


Kiss Me, Kill Me

by WinchesterPooja (chronic_potterphile)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Brotherly Love, Diner Owner Dean, Drama, F/M, Family, Gore, Lawyer Sam Winchester, Lots of People Will Die Basically, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prologue and Some Later Bits are Outsider PoV, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Romance, Sex, Slut Shaming, Suicide, Unhealthy Relationships, Writer Castiel, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronic_potterphile/pseuds/WinchesterPooja
Summary: Dean and Cas are like any other regular married couple living a happy life at Tyngsborough, Massachusetts. They have a great life. Dean’s running a diner, Cas is finally getting recognised for his new novel series, and both of them are damned proud of Sam who’s landed a great job at a law firm. Basically, everything in their lives is just how they want it to be. However when a serial killer dubbed the Creature starts to wreak havoc across the country, specifically hitting Tyngsborough twice, the town grabs the attention of the FBI. Special Agent Victor Henriksen has been investigating this case for a year with no good results. Frustrated that the Creature seems to be slipping his grasp each time, he gets himself to Tyngsborough, determined to catch the killer this time. His investigations lead him to the Winchester family, thus marking the beginning of everything that starts going wrong in the Winchesters' lives.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my wonderful artist, [chemart](http://chemart.livejournal.com/) for choosing this fic and making some extremely visually satisfying and deliciously creepy pieces for this fic. I screeched in pleasure at all the emails and these are all so, so wonderful! My advice would be to look at the art masterpost once you’ve completed this fic for avoidance of spoilers. It has been linked in the end.
> 
> Also hugs and kisses and lots of thanks to my beta, Allison/[foolofatook17](http://foolofatook17.tumblr.com/)/[DarceyDelaney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyDelaney) for her quick work and amazing comments on this fic, and all this despite working on her own DCBB! I have no idea what I’d do without you, Allison. 
> 
> Further thanks goes to my two jaans, my wifeys, Sanjana/[SPNxBookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNxBookworm/pseuds/SPNxBookworm) and Naila/[iamremy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/) for their inputs and cheering and for always, always making me feel better about this fic and encouraging some of my puns even though they were horrible. Also, thank you, and lots of hugs to Naomi/[nomercles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomercles/pseuds/nomercles), Ellen/[Lennelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lennelle/pseuds/Lennelle) and Jamie/[cliffnotesofanerd](http://cliffnotesofanerd.tumblr.com/) for plot decisions; Jamie for her help with how the American ORs work, Naomi for helping me fill up some horrible plot holes I had no way out of and being all-around supportive, and Ellen for being there and helping me review some things about plot, characterization and generally letting me whine. 
> 
> And last, but not the least, the DCBB mods. Thank you for organising this every year! <3
> 
>  
> 
> Without futher ado, here’s my story. Apologies for my rambling notes.  
>  **Let me warn you, this story is fucked-up in a lot of ways. It's a twisted, screwed-up story. So brace yourselves. And (hopefully) enjoy! :)**

_ _

_  
_

_They say when you're dying your whole life flashes before your eyes. Scene by scene by scene. As if you need to be reminded of what you did, of your virtues and your sins. It's a strange concept, really; this, and the fact that no one could tell you if it is true or explain why it happens, makes it stranger._

**Prologue**

**Tyngsborough, Massachusetts**

**Fall**

It was quiet at the little diner. The moon shone down from the clear, dark sky, illuminating a strip of the dusty and deserted street outside. Linda sat stirring her coffee at a table by the window as she marvelled at the perfection of the night whilst trying to pay attention to the task at hand. She'd been trying for a while, but she just couldn't make sense of the numerous emails that she was required to reply to. And, though it wasn't going any better than when she'd been at home, Jack was right: this place was a little bit of a relief to her nerves. He came here often after work, and Linda reckoned she'd been driving him crazy, bouncing off the walls of the house with her frustrations. Now, she was thankful he sent her here. Apart from the quaintness of the diner, the soothing walls and nice furniture that helped calm her down; the bacon cheeseburger was the best she'd had in her entire life.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see the owner, a man about as old as her, cleaning up as he prepared to close shop for the night. He seemed really patient, though; he'd served Linda her food himself, a smile on his charming face, green eyes kind, and he'd not shown any signs of wanting to shoo her off from his establishment. He just waited, only ever interrupting her to refill her cup, with his nametag reading "Dean" in block letters.

The young waiters had left a while ago; a feisty redheaded girl, Charlie, who kept chattering about everything, and an Asian boy, Kevin, who looked like he was barely out of school. The noise levels had immediately reduced when they exited the diner, leaving Linda to her thoughts and the occasional sounds of Dean wrapping up after them. Once, he had even picked up his phone to talk to someone in a low, rumbling voice, smiling fondly, and Linda had tried not to watch.

She took a sip of her coffee and opened the next email, trying to read the details as her eyes squinted a little from the stress. It wasn't a good day at work. The pharmaceutical company she was employed at, _Trevor & Co._, was running at a loss and things were going haywire at her workplace. There were too many last-minute budget cuts going on, as well as intense pressure to compete better with no expectations for salary increases. Tempers were running high and people were fighting, cold wars being rampant at her workplace.

But she needed to do her job.

Linda sighed, fingers starting to tap at keys as she began to type out a reply. She was just getting into the mood of it when the bell above the door clinked loudly, startling her. She blinked up to see a dark-haired man enter the diner, dressed in a suit with a trench coat over it as he set his briefcase heavily on one of the seats. He did not acknowledge Dean at all. Instead, he sat at the booth near Linda's, just in front of her, rubbing at his eyes. Dean arrived at his table a moment later with coffee and the newcomer accepted it with a nod of acknowledgement, but nothing else.

There was more silence for a while after. Linda replied to another couple of emails, drained her coffee, and decided she should leave before taking advantage of the niceness of her host. Pushing her cup away, she shut her laptop. Dean noticed and got her the check before winking at her and turning to concentrate on his other customer.

"Long day," he said to him, mouth going up in a half-smirk. It wasn't even a question.

Linda placed the money on the table and stuffed her things into her bag. In front of her, the trench-coated man sighed. "I told you," he said, as he drained his coffee. "I liked today, though." Linda could hear a smile in his voice as he spoke.

"Yeah, I know." Dean sounded excited. "Bet your night will give your _day_ a run for its money." He winked, and _Linda's_ cheeks were growing hot, even if this wasn't aimed at her. That was horrible flirting, but _damn_. Did Dean do this with a lot of his customers?

The other man did not reply. He tapped at his cup, watching as Dean walked away to get the pot. When he came back he refilled the coffee and proceeded to sit on the tabletop, one foot touching the floor for support.

"Dean." The other man's voice was warm, adoring, like that single word, _that one name_ , meant the universe to him.

Dean leaned forward and pulled at the tip of the other man's tie, winking. "Cas." His green eyes sparkled with mischief. Oh. So they _did_ know each other. Linda felt like she was invading something private as she scrambled to leave. She was at the door when Cas brought a hand up to interlink it with Dean's. A glint of gold caught her eye.

Wedding bands.

 _Oh_. _Figures_. They weren't strangers at all.

She was outside of the diner just when Dean bent forward to kiss his husband.

**~o~**

As she made her way back home, Linda tucked her hair behind her ears, thinking of first impressions and perceptions. She hadn't even guessed initially that those two men were familiar with each other, let alone husbands.

The night air was chilly, but the moonlight made up for the cold sinisterness of it. Linda pulled out her phone to tell Jack that she would be home in five. She owed him a hug and a kiss for even suggesting that little place to her because at least she got her work done for a bit.

She dialled Jack's number and put the phone to her ear, stuffing her other hand into her pocket as she quickened her pace. Her breaths were rising in mists, and _damn_ , was it time for winter already? Hadn't fall just come in… yesterday? It seemed to be getting colder with each passing year. At least, Linda thought so. Or maybe her tolerance for cold weather was down a few notches.

Jack, the bastard, didn't pick up his phone and Linda huffed in annoyance as she continued towards their place. When she got there, she saw that the lights inside the house were turned off, and she rolled her eyes. The lazy asshole was asleep. Of course he was. And he'd better have done the dishes before conking off for the night.

She put her keys down on the little table by the doorway. When she tried to switch on the lights, they didn't work. Damned fuse must have blown again. Linda groaned and shut the door behind her. "Jack?"

There was no answer.

Where was he? How didn't he notice the lack of electricity in the house?

Linda swore to God she was going to go wake him the fuck up now. Mildly irritated, she fished out her phone and switched on the flashlight in it. A thin stream of bright light illuminated the beginning of the stairs a few feet to her right. She made her way over and started to move up.

She was on the fourth step when the phone fell from her hand. Cursing, she picked it up to illuminate her path again, and froze. There was something on the couch downstairs.

She saw it. She definitely saw it. It was—it…

Heart thumping against her chest, Linda shone the torch back down…

… only to start screaming.

Her legs trembled as they carried her out and she ran and she ran, screams still echoing through the night air, people gathering and arms grabbing for her. She felt someone hold her, a pair of hands shake her by the shoulders, but she couldn't hear their words beyond her own.

_Jack! Someone killed Jack! He's dead, he's dead!_

Oh, and oh God, she'd seen it; _she'd seen it_. There was a huge hole in his chest. Like his heart was gone.


	2. The Husband

**BOOK ONE**

**One: The Husband**

**Summer**

Cas was tired. The light from the laptop screen seemed to be burning through his eyes and scorching out his very retinas. His fingers were stiff. He was sure he was developing carpal tunnel. And Dean still hadn't closed for the day and God, he just wanted Dean with him right now. He had tried phoning his husband, but Dean wouldn't take his call, so Cas could tell he was busy. Probably a picky customer. That, or Charlie was in a chatty mood tonight.

He liked them: Charlie and Kevin. Dean had only wanted some wait staff, and they were perfect. Charlie lived fifteen minutes away and had taken computer studies at UMass Lowell. Kevin had just finished high school and had been accepted into UML as well, and into the same program as Charlie. _Nerds_ , Dean had called them, and Cas had never seen many people who were so enthusiastic about their subjects. Apart from Sam, that is.

The laptop still sat there on the table, the screen blaring brightly at Cas's face as though it were accusing him of stalling. And, okay, he _was_ on a deadline, but he needed a break right now. So he ignored all the protests in his mind that told him he'd regret this later on, and promptly saved his draft before shutting the laptop. Then he decided to try for Dean again.

Cas was already sprawled in bed when Dean picked up the phone.

"Where are you?" he asked immediately, before his husband could so much as utter a 'hello.'

"Cas." Dean sounded wary. "I'm coming home."

"Yes, I've been waiting for you, Dean."

"Yeah, uh—" Dean paused for a second, and Cas felt his eyes narrowing. What was going on?

"Dean?"

"There's, um… someone with me."

"Okay."

"It's this dude… from the FBI."

Cas's heart shot up to his mouth as he pulled himself into a sitting position. Sam had warned him… warned them both and said it was dangerous… he never should have started all of this—

"He just wants to ask us some stuff," Dean told him. "Don't worry."

"Dean, is this—is this about what I—?"

"No, Cas, it's cool. You wait there. Sam's said to call him if shit gets bad, but it won't."

And Sam was still in Palo Alto, so a lot of things could go wrong before he even got onto a flight.

"You stay put," Dean continued, "I'll be there in two."

"Yes."

"Cas—"

"I'm fine, Dean."

There was a pregnant pause, and then Cas could hear the smile in Dean's voice. "Yeah, you are."

Cas put the phone down with those words ringing in his ears, only realising belatedly that his hands were shaking.

**~o~**

Special Agent Victor Henriksen had handled a lot of horrible, strange, gruesome cases in the entirety of his FBI career, but this one had to take the cake. He had arrived in Tyngsborough two days ago after a murder had been reported, the seventh in a series of absurd killings that had spanned throughout the country over the last year and a half. These occurred every three months, in a different town each time, but this time, the killer seemed to have blundered and killed two people in the same town within the span of a year. And that town was Tyngsborough.

The local PD was frustrated because they had no leads and the media was creating a commotion amongst the people, who all wanted answers for everything these days, even before there were any answers at all.

At the FBI, they called him the _Creature_. The killings took place once every season on a full moon night and they all happened in the same way, victims all being somewhat similar in age and appearance. They were men, mid-forties, and they were found dead with their bodies mutilated and hearts missing. They were all classic douchebags, too: abusers, perverts, serial cheaters, and rapists. It was like this killer was trying to play God (or Dexter), which he obviously had no right to. A vigilante. He turned up like clockwork, every three months, bang-on according to the lunar cycle, and he took one more life with him.

The weird thing about this whole case was that there was no link to these murders apart from this very fact. The kind of pervert chosen was random. The city or town where the murder took place was random. There was no way to guess where this piece of filth would strike again.

Up until now, there had never been more than one murder in one town, though. Not like this one, and according to Henriksen, this was a gold mine. This was how he was going to catch this bastard.

He smiled to himself and glanced at Dean Winchester as they headed to his home to question Dean's spouse. The first murder in this town had been that of a man named Jack Wheeler and he'd apparently frequented that little flourishing diner that Winchester owned. However, that wasn't what was special about this man and his husband, and Henriksen intended to take full advantage of the kind of information he was about to get from this little family.

They rounded a corner and entered a residential street, Winchester tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as he hid a smirk. He was young, barely thirty, and he had a mouth on him. Henriksen did not like this guy. He and his husband were extremely implemental to his investigation, though, and that was one of the most unfortunate things about this entire case.

So Henriksen followed Winchester into his house, knowing that he'd probably have to put up with these people for a while now and that he wouldn't be able to complain about it. Reasonable bargain, as long as he found the killer.

**~o~**

Cas was ready when the doorbell rang. He could feel his heart fluttering in his chest as he went to get it. Sam had already called twice. He was definitely coming home now, he'd said. He was cancelling his trip to Jess's place and taking the next flight out. Cas did not doubt that, but he did not know if Sam could help them if the situation was what he thought it was.

When he opened the door, he found Dean standing on the porch with a man behind him on the stoop. Before Cas could react, his husband leaned over to place a small kiss on his cheek and Cas felt the inevitable peace and comfort take him over as he smiled.

Dean was not a very big talker. He relied on gestures and small sentences, but Cas knew that the kiss was Dean's way of comforting him. Of saying that everything was going to be just fine. And Cas involuntarily just believed his husband.

Dean stood back, the sparkle of green prominent in his eyes. "How was your day?" he murmured.

"Good."

"Good?" Dean gave him a kind smile, then moved. "This is Special Agent—"

"—Victor Henriksen," the man finished for Dean, as he came forward and shook Cas's hand. He was tall, bald, and black, and exuded a sharp, intelligent personality, like he knew every bit of what he was doing. Cas found himself swallowing a little.

"Castiel Winchester."

Henriksen nodded. "I have some questions for both of you."

"Sure," Cas told him. "Come on in."

He cleared the books off their coffee table—all Cas's—and saw his phone blinking with a message from Sam. He opened it as Henriksen made himself comfortable on the armchair.

 **Sam [21:11]:** Got my ticket on the morning plane out. See you. Don't worry. Say hi to Dean. :)

Cas smiled at his brother-in-law's sweet message and tucked the phone into his pocket as he sat beside Dean. Dean's hand reached for Cas's thigh, stayed there a moment, and was gone the next. "So, you had questions?" he asked the agent.

"I do." Henriksen leaned forward. "Some are about that man, Jack Wheeler, who you know was found murdered last October."

Dean glanced at Cas. "Yeah, we remember that."

"His girlfriend, Linda Ballinger, was at your diner minutes before she found him."

"That's right."

"And Dean," Henriksen nodded, "so were you. Correct?"

Dean smirked. "I was there the entire evening."

"Anyone who can confirm that with me?"

"We got cams in the shop. Plus my wait staff can tell you I was there."

Henriksen nodded. "All right. And before that?"

"Here," Dean told him. "I took a break for the afternoon."

"Your customers tell me that you're always at the diner. So why weren't you there on that day?"

"It was, uh…" Dean looked at Cas again, going slightly pink, and Cas's heart grew a little at the sight of his husband being flustered. "It was a slightly late anniversary celebration."

"Anniversary?"

"Yeah, we'd been married two years and Cas was busy earlier that week, so it was a late anniversary thing and… I wanted to get some stuff ready." Dean's ears were positively red now as he tried to avoid all eye contact with Henriksen.

The FBI agent turned to Cas. "And you can confirm that?"

"Yes." Cas took Dean's hand. "We made lunch, watched movies together, and exchanged gifts."

"Okay." Henriksen rubbed at his eyebrow. "And I think you know that two days ago there was another murder."

"Yeah. That dude was a regular," Dean said, looking down as he sighed.

"Edward Miller," Henriksen said, nodding. "That was his name. Did you know that?"

"I did. He'd come in the previous day, too," said Dean.

"So where were you when he was murdered?"

"No clue, but we were home that morning and in Worcester in the afternoon. Barnes and Noble." Dean grinned. "Since Cas is a big-time author and all, he has these readings he's gotta do sometimes of his books."

"I know. So once again, you weren't at the diner that day?"

Dean shrugged. "Not the whole day, but there are people who saw me around the entire day, including the time when the murder could have happened. I was working when they found Ed, too. You can ask the staff."

"What prompted you to take the day off?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Cas was nervous."

"And he hasn't had any other readings before? With his success?"

"What, he can't be human?" Dean was getting dangerously on edge and Cas squeezed his hand, to feel him squeeze back. "You doubting us now?"

"You _do_ have a shady history."

Cas glanced at Dean, who rolled his eyes. "Again."

"Again, what?"

"Look, dude, I told the police after it happened, too. My dad died in a fire. My foster dad was attacked by a burglar. Our guardian got shot in the head after. Sam and I had nothing to do with any of that, okay?"

"We'll see."

"Sure, open up the old files, why don't you," said Dean, his voice mocking. "Will make a lot of sense to look for shit that isn't there."

Henriksen folded his arms. "Where did you meet your husband?"

"At my foster parents' place," said Dean. "And for the record, I was already eighteen. It was extended foster care until I graduated. We were friends for a whole year after."

"So these are the third and fourth deaths to occur in the vicinity of you and your husband."

"Vicinity." Dean huffed. "Are you… are you serious?"

"You can understand why I'm asking you these questions, right?" Henriksen raised his hands. "Just covering the basics."

"Well, then," said Dean, and Cas could already feel the anger pouring out of him as he squeezed his husband's hand harder, " _basically_ , Cas wasn't even in the house on the day I left foster care. That was the day my foster dad was killed, too, and like I said, in a burglary."

"Why didn't you contact someone from the system or CPS? That you were leaving?"

"You kidding me?" Dean asked him. "Look, this is stupid. I just told you I was eighteen. My brother, who's four years younger, wasn't, and I didn't want him going back to some home, okay? Bobby called the police when we reached his place. He was our legal guardian and his papers were through and he took great care of us. Better than CPS and all the other idiots."

"And the days of the murders at this town, you and your husband cannot give me concrete proof as to where you were?"

"You want an alibi?" Dean asked him, and Cas knew that tone in his voice. _Goddammit_. "Let me—"

"Dean," Cas muttered, trying to stop the volcano from erupting, "we don't need to do this. Sam is arriving tomorrow and—"

"No." Dean had reached into his pocket now, and was fumbling with his phone. "He wants proof, Cas, and I can give it to him right here." He had unlocked his phone and Cas knew what he was reaching for.

"Dean—"

"Tell Sammy to go meet Jess's folks," Dean told him as he opened his video gallery. "We can deal with this."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Aha!" Dean glanced at Cas, a small smile playing at his lips, before sliding the phone to Henriksen. "Look at that."

Henriksen picked it up, but made a face. "This is a video."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "And we're naked. And fucking. That was our anniversary celebration. We hadn't fucked in a while. And you can see the timestamp if you want, for your alibi."

Cas shut his eyes momentarily, warmth rising up in his cheeks as Henriksen stared at the clip, not touching it. Dean watched him for a moment. "What, you paralysed all of a sudden? Play it."

"You're being crass," Henriksen began. "I don't need to—"

"No." Dean took the phone back, pushed play, and Cas looked away as the distinct sounds of heavy breaths filled the room.

"That's enough," Henriksen said over Cas's moan. "I have a few more questions—"

"About what?" Dean asked him as Cas moaned in the video again, with Dean this time. Finding his own voice vaguely disturbing and embarrassing, Cas moved forward to stop the video.

"We just told you that we had nothing to do with this shitstorm," Dean continued as he took his phone from Cas.

"You can't expect me to believe that without proof," Henriksen told him.

"I proved it to you, you asshole! Go ask the people at the bookstore! And at the diner. I was out and about that day, not murdering some dude, you stupid fuck."

"Please stop misbehaving."

"We are just a fucking family in this fucking town, and—"

"This is also about the novels your husband is working on," Henriksen said calmly, although Cas could sense that his temper was just waiting, ready to fly off. "If you don't have any connection to this, you shouldn't have a problem answering these last few questions."

"Yeah, my brother—"

"Dean." Cas cut his husband off midway and Dean turned around to him, anger melting from his face. "I'll answer those questions," said Cas. "We knew they'd ask."

"Yeah." Dean swallowed, his other hand reaching to grab some of Cas's fingers, "but you didn't do anything." He was almost whining as he said it.

"They know that," Cas lied. "But it's their job, okay? Let me do this."

"We had a deal." Dean was earnest now, not angry, but Cas could sense the slight worry in his voice. He shrugged. "Sam's coming tomorrow, man."

"I can handle this."

"Cas—"

"Dean, you've already ruined it," Cas told him, his frustration making itself apparent. Dean deflated a bit and Cas felt guilty, but it was gone when he remembered the video from a few minutes ago. "We both know what my situation is. I want to answer his questions."

Dean stared at him for a long moment. He nodded slowly. "Okay. You're right."

They turned back to Henriksen, together, and the other man straightened up, looking Cas directly in the eye. "So, Mr. Winchester, when did you come up with the idea for the _Werewolf_ series?"

**~o~**

"That went well."

Dean emerged from the kitchen, a glass of whiskey in hand while Cas leaned against the sofa cushions with his phone. He knew Cas was pissed off with him for everything that went down with Henriksen, but hey, that guy asked for it. He was blaming them off baseless suspicions and the million questions had really annoyed Dean. He didn't regret his actions one bit.

Plus, Henriksen ought to be jealous of him and Cas right now. They had some really great sex and Dean had just presented him with evidence of that.

"Do you really think so?" Cas asked him in a low voice when Dean settled next to him. Yep, definitely pissed.

"Yeah. You don't?" Dean asked his husband, grinning. He knew this would rile Cas up more, but he'd kiss Cas everywhere, slowly first, then quicker and get down on his knees, only to make _Cas_ beg. And he'd take Cas in his arms and—

"I don't know, Dean, I think that was crass and unnecessary." Cas's gravelly voice cut across Dean's fantasy and impending boner.

He sighed. "Don't make some big goddamned issue out of this, man."

"I'm not making it an issue. It didn't need to be a problem at all."

"What do you want me to do, huh?" Dean asked him, trying to be patient. "You want me to come and apologise? Kiss his feet and tell him I'm sorry for hurting his feelings?"

"It was not _his_ feelings you hurt."

The statement was so blank, so unexpected, Dean's jaw dropped. He put his hands on Cas's shoulders, trying to get him to look at him, but Cas kept turning away and Dean needed him to say that crap once again to believe him.

Because, what the fuck?

"Dude," he began, listening to the disbelief in his own voice, "dude, seriously?"

"What we do in our bedroom and in our lives is private, Dean."

"Yeah. So? I was just trying to teach him a lesson!"

"I did not want my privacy breached," Cas snapped at him, standing up. "Did you ask me? Did you even _think_ of whether I would be comfortable with that, before sharing something so intimate with a stranger?"

Dean stared at him blankly, watching his husband's face. It hadn't been _that_ bad. It hadn't—

"It appears that you don't have the capability of understanding that anyway," Cas cut across Dean's thoughts as he began to walk away, and Dean felt his heart sink.

"Come on, Cas, he was a jerk," he moaned, and Cas actually turned back.

"No. I believe he was doing his job."

"Like an asshole!"

"Like any other law enforcement personnel would."

Dean drained the last of his whiskey and stood up, too. "So now you're gonna be pissy at me because of some fucker from the FBI?"

"If that's what you think," Cas said, crossing his arms in that annoyingly pissy _Cas_ way, "then I'm not even going to bother to correct you." He paused. "I'm going to bed."

"Fine."

Cas walked away, leaving Dean to wish he'd reciprocated with a _fine_ , too. Preferably shouted it out, because then Dean would know that it was all right, but now he'd have to live with Cas pissed at him.

**~o~**

Cas had been a struggling novelist for the better part of his life. He'd read extensively as a child, created fantasy worlds in his head, and thought up characters and kingdoms and languages that he'd always wished he could share with everyone.

It never worked out that way, though.

There were too many like him. Too many people who'd had similar dreams, who spoke and wrote like perfect poets and had more to share, who could express beauty in little words and dialogue and move hearts and souls with their pens with so much ease and fluidity, it left Cas dumbstruck. They didn't have a place for their stories, either, and compared to them, Cas was very far behind. Too far behind to actually win.

Or so he thought.

 _Werewolf_ had been his most recent brainchild, a mystery novel series about two women investigating a string of murders that occurred every month on full moon night. The murders were in random towns across America, and all the victims were missing their hearts.

The story was a trilogy. Cas had added sub-plots and diverse characters and comedy and tragedy and romance and adventure and everything he could think of. He had been careful about including all that, so it would fit in, weave in neatly with his story and not look like too much. Dean had sat with him day and night and listened as Cas wrote the first book, and Sam had read drafts upon drafts and been honest and good about it all. They'd done it in six months and they finally even became Cas's unofficial literary agents.

Then came the rejections. They poured in, one after the other, each publisher finding a flaw with the storyline, finding problems with the characters, and a million other things which had seemed just fine when Cas had written them. When he was just about to give up and return to helping Dean at the diner, Cas had met Marv, a truly horrible man and a _professional_ literary agent who seemed interested in Cas's writing. Marv made good work of it and got the books published sooner than Cas expected.

Cas had had his first book published earlier this year, and it had received rave reviews and a great following. He knew he would never be Conan Doyle, but he was happy at his success, as was Dean. He'd made a small fortune out of it, he was attending readings, signing copies, giving interviews, and being appreciated, and not too many people knew about him and his relatively private life.

Of course, that had all been perfect until Henriksen came knocking. Because now, not only had Dean been kind enough to display his willingness to show that video to Henriksen (and maybe Cas was making a big deal out of it, but it _was_ a big deal to him), the FBI seemed to have realised that the recent serial killings bore some kind of a resemblance to the deaths in Cas's novels.

And that was fine, because Cas _had_ stolen his concept (and only _concept_ ) from what was really happening (and it attracted the market even if a lot of people were quick to criticise him for making money out of tragedies, but far more people were interested in reading it and sales were increasing by the minute, and it was _honestly_ only the concept that Cas had gotten—everything else was fictional). But suspecting him for murder based on all of that? That was… worrying. And if Cas could have known it would come to this…

He thought of it, over and over, thought of Henriksen's questions about his conception of the idea and Dean ruining everything and he found himself wanting to curl further and further into his blankets. He'd have to talk to Sam tomorrow about this. About all of this. It was very important at this point that Sam understood the urgency of the situation. But then again, Sam was smart enough to understand why it was all going to hell.

There was a disclaimer. Cas had included a disclaimer in his novel, that the events in the book were fiction, meaning he had nothing to do with the _Creature_. And the publishers had offered legal protection, too, even if Cas didn't trust any lawyer more than he trusted Sam. It didn't need to fall apart, but he hated that it could.

He swallowed and tried to block out all the thoughts in his head when he felt the bed dip with Dean's weight behind him. He didn't respond. Dean had to know that what he'd done was wrong and not forgivable, or something to be repeated. But then, Dean's arm was around Cas as he pressed himself against Cas's back. Cas's mind was blank the next moment.

"'M sorry," Dean muttered into his ear, hot breaths ghosting against his skin. "'M really sorry, okay?"

"Please don't do that again." Cas was upset. He could feel it in his gut, rising up his throat. "Dean, I'm really worried."

"About what?"

"You don't think we should be worried?"

Dean kissed Cas's neck. "No." He kissed him again. "And Sam's gonna be here soon, right? He'll make sure shit doesn't get fucked up." Dean came in for a third kiss, lips brushing against sensitive skin, and Cas shivered in anticipation. He turned around and palmed Dean's face, pulling him forward to kiss him on the mouth, lips working slowly as he took it all in.

When they parted, Dean moved to nibble on Cas's ear. "Wanna recreate that video?" he murmured, tongue touching Cas's earlobe briefly.

Cas could already feel his nerve endings crackle. "Yes, please."

**~o~**

Cas woke up to Dean's hand circling the waistband of his boxers. He moaned, letting Dean take it as a cue to continue breaths hitching when Dean's hand surpassed the waistband as he felt the firm roughness of Dean's palm. He turned to find Dean smiling at him sweetly, before leaning in for a kiss.

Fingers came to tantalise at Cas.

"Oh God," he muttered against Dean's lips, thrusting forward. Dean pressed his mouth onto Cas's again, and reached down to get his boxers off.

Cas gasped, wriggling out of the very last piece of clothing he'd had on, wrapping his arms around Dean and letting him roll over. He clutched at Dean's bare back, fingers digging in as Dean left kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Cas reached for the lube on the nightstand and handed it to his husband, shuddering as he felt Dean's lips on every inch of his skin, sending flutters down his navel. Their breaths were erratic, kisses wet and sloppy, the rustling of the bedcovers mingling with the songs of the morning birds. Dean kissed Cas's stomach and thighs and legs and ankles and his hands were magic, stroking and teasing and maddening Cas.

"Dean," he muttered, every inch of him quivering, begging for mercy. Dean's green eyes matched his and he was suddenly palming Cas's hips, letting Cas wrap his legs around him and—

"Oh, oh God."

"Yeah," Dean growled in a low voice, thrusting forward. Cas shut his eyes, mouth falling open.

"D-Dean."

Dean's lips were there to silence him at that moment, their bodies moving together, and Cas grunted and gasped against his husband, moving and shaking and feeling him push and thrust until—

"Fuck." Dean's voice was low, guttural. He buried his forehead in Cas's neck, pushing. "Oh, fuck." And Cas, in a flurry of ecstasy and joy and satisfaction and smiles and sweat, soaked into the warmth of Dean's body and the comfort of his presence, gasping loudly into the morning air as he came.

It wasn't just a moment. It felt like an hour, an eternity, their hearts beating together as they held on, listening to the sound of beauty around them. This never got old. This could never get old.

Cas felt Dean climb off him, lay down beside him, and turned to his husband to cup his face. Dean was a staring at him, eyelids blinking sluggishly over bright green eyes, beautiful and loving, and Cas smiled. They needed to get dressed and ready because Sam would be arriving soon.

He found himself cringing a little at the thought. He loved Sam and wanted Sam to come over, and that _wasn't_ a question, but why Sam was going to be here was another thing. And last night with Henriksen was just…

Cas had a bad taste in his mouth as he recounted everything. He couldn't believe Dean would do that.

"What're you thinking?" Dean's voice was a gravelly murmur, sexy and warm, and Cas wanted to hold him in his arms again, but he shut his eyes.

"I hope you didn't tape that, Dean," he said earnestly. "I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all. I didn't like that you think something that private can be displayed for others to watch."

There was a breath of silence as Cas waited for Dean to respond.

He could hear the cogwheels in Dean's head whirring at an incredible pace as his heartbeats picked up to possibly match that rate.

He knew Dean now. He expected Dean to grin and scoff and call him an idiot for it, or to shake his head and tell him that he'd love another round of morning sex. And he was prepared for it. Prepared for another joke, and to tell Dean off, and have a serious conversation. Dean was reasonable and he would listen…

The stiffness in Dean's posture pulled Cas out of his thoughts. He waited a moment for Dean to loosen up, confused, but that didn't happen. Instead, his husband got off the bed and Cas's heartbeats were fast again because _why_?

Dean headed to the door, still naked, but he stood there a moment and Cas's chest constricted when he heard the anger and pain in Dean's voice. "I said sorry, you know, but you ain't gonna believe I didn't do that to hurt you, so…"

And he was gone, leaving Cas to lie there in a whirlwind of emotions and nerves.

**~o~**

Dean threw on an apron and flicked a bit of butter onto the pan, trying not to fume about Cas. They'd promised each other they'd be understanding, never storm away angry, but this was goddamned stupid. Okay, Dean had made a mistake. And he'd apologised to Cas about it… even given Cas a good time (and was Cas going to complain about that? No, no, he wouldn't, because he'd enjoyed the fuck out of it). Now Dean wished he'd taped it all, just so he could remind Cas how much he _loved_ getting fucked and…

He gripped the counter, shutting his eyes for a moment. No, he didn't want to be angry. He wanted to talk this out with Cas and understand…

He didn't want to be angry.

Dean reached for the batter when he opened his eyes and poured some onto the pan, wondering if they had any more of those frozen blueberries. Cas loved his pancakes with blueberries. And Dean always kept some, but sometimes he'd forget and…

Ah, screw it, if they didn't have any, he'd run by the diner to get it.

He heard footsteps behind him and stiffened, but a pair of arms wrapped themselves around him. He could feel Cas's stubbled chin rest on his bare shoulder, his warm, naked body pressing close to Dean's bare ass. It was way sexier than how Dean had tried to apologise last night.

Okay, and it wasn't a competition… but it was. Cas was so freaking hot, though. And, fuck him, Dean was already getting a boner with Cas standing against him like that.

"I believe it's my turn to apologise," Cas said. "I'm sorry. And I don't want to fight about this. So just please understand."

God, he was so fucking cosy and _sexy_. Dean turned around and cupped his face, kissing his lips. "You're hot. I hate you for it."

Cas's eyes twinkled. "There _is_ still some time before Sam gets here…"

Dean grinned at him, kissed him again. "Yeah, I know." He pushed Cas back, holding his wrists and sliding their hands up the wall as he slammed Cas against the surface to kiss him. He could feel Cas's jaw drop, breaths catching in his throat as he went down to nip at Cas's neck and shoulder. He'd forever remember Cas's grunts and moans when he'd pushed him to the edge, lifting him and letting his legs curl around his hips. He'd forever remember hearing his name being called and gasped out urgently and loudly, wrecking the oppressive silence of their home from all their fights.

They'd never fought very long anyway. And they knew the best ways to make it up to each other.


	3. The Brother

**Two: The Brother**

"You guys are gross."

Dean was scrubbing at the burnt leftovers on the pan when he heard the voice, his heart floating up to his throat and warmth spreading through his nerve endings. "Sammy?"

The pan was in the sink the very next moment and he was in the living room, watching as Sam put down his bags and rested his cane against the wall. He shook his long hair back from his eyes. "Did you burn your breakfast again because you two couldn't stop having sex?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, but his brother shrugged. "I can smell it off Cas. The burnt stuff. And you wouldn't let him cook, but food is too important to you so I know you wouldn't let it burn like that, unless you were doing something better. Plus, Cas is smiling a lot." He turned to Cas. "You never smile that much, you know?"

There was a moment of silence as a grin crept up Dean's face and he went forward, extending his arms. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey." Sam's voice was soft when Dean pulled him into his arms, somehow swallowing his gigantic frame in the hug, even though Sam was so much bigger. And Sam held on, burying his face in Dean's shoulder for a moment, before they split.

"You're still disgusting, though," Sam said, wrinkling his nose.

"Your _hair_ is disgusting."

"Shut up. Jess likes it."

"Jess is blind."

"I think we should have breakfast at the diner," Cas interrupted them, and Dean could see Sam already opening his mouth to protest.

He smirked. "I win, Sammy."

"No, your husband is _way_ blinder and that wasn't a fair match," Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes. He retrieved his cane. "I'm hungry, though, so can we eat something quick?"

"Sure," Dean told him. "I'm gonna have to scrub out the pan a little bit so it doesn't get worse." He could feel the blush creep up his cheeks. Sam knew them too well.

"Ew," his sibling responded, limping to the couch. "Do it quickly then, jerk, I haven't eaten anything today."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean told him, heading back to the kitchen. " _Bitch_."

**~o~**

"Dean, you're an idiot."

Sam rubbed at his forehead slowly, fingering his coffee mug as Dean watched Charlie bustle about, serving their customers. He'd initially opened the diner for burgers only, but his customers increased and he and Cas had decided to expand the menu to include more breakfast items. Dean had been a little grumpy about it but it all worked out pretty well.

"Sam," Cas said quietly from beside Dean, "I tried telling him, but—"

"Are you even listening to us here, Dean?"

Dean snapped out of his reverie when he heard Sam's question. His brother looked concerned and a little pissed. Dean stared at the pancakes, feeling a little reprimanded at Sam's gaze. "You going to your doctor regularly?"

Sam sighed. "Just answer my question, man."

"I got pissed," Dean replied, shrugging. "Whad'ya guys want me to say?"

"Yeah, but…" Sam's jaw clenched as he looked around and then leaned forward, hissing, "I warned you two about this shit."

"Yeah," Dean whispered back, "but I _told_ you I got angry, so you tell me, what the _fuck_ do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to control your fucking temper," Sam snapped back at him. He turned to Cas. "They asked you to see them with me today, right?" he asked, voice milder, and Dean folded his arms across his chest, annoyed at his brother's reproach.

"Yes."

Sam nodded, running his fingers through his hair. "All right, then. We'll talk." He fell silent for a second. "You worried?"

"Yes, Sam, I—"

"Don't be," he said, the confidence in his voice making Dean's chest swell with pride. "I'll handle it, okay?"

"I trust you, Sam." Cas looked so earnest in that moment, and so relieved, that Dean felt all the realisation creep up into him about Cas's unreasonable anger last night and that morning. He blinked at his husband, shame and regret mingling with his senses as the reason for Cas's behaviour became clear.

Dean had really hurt him.

He swallowed and nudged his husband behind him and locked eyes with Cas's. "I'll make it up to you tonight, yeah? Again, and better this time," he whispered, winking, and the only thing that broke their eye contact was Sam's fake retching from across the table.

" _Seriously_ , guys, just get a room."

**~o~**

Sam had only been practising law for six months now, so he couldn't help but feel flattered to have Dean and Cas's utter trust in him. He supposed it shouldn't have counted, because they were his brother and brother-in-law, but to have their support was something else, if he were honest.

He packed his briefcase, double-checking the files he'd gotten made for Cas when Cas had told him about his ideas, and mentally recounted everything he'd need, hoping he wouldn't screw up for his family today.

Dean had stayed back at the diner, frantically making Sam promise that either he or Cas would call him after their talk with Henriksen and give him the details, and Sam knew he felt sorry for having lost his temper yesterday. Well, because of that, and the fact that he and Cas were being disgusting.

When he was done packing, Sam fixed his hair and collected his walking stick, smiling at it briefly. It had been a part of his life for a year now, ever since he'd been in a car accident with his old roommate, Brady. It had been pretty bad and Sam had injured his lumbar spine, giving him chronic pain as a lasting gift and Dean a lot of sleepless nights and anxiety. Sam could sometimes still hear Dean's muted voice, shouting at him though his haze of pain meds about road safety and how he would never allow Sam to drive and put him in a shell and hide him in a closet… or something.

He might have hallucinated that last bit, though.

Sam could understand why it had concerned and worried Dean so much. Brady had not survived that accident. Sam wasn't supposed to, either. He just got lucky.

The cane—or _walking stick_ , as everyone in his old support group liked to call it—helped with a bit of the pain. Sam still had the option of a surgically inserted narcotic pump to help him, but he didn't like drugs that numbed his mind, so Dean and Jess had known not to suggest that one.

Presently Sam finished a trip to the bathroom, shaking off his thoughts about that damned accident, and was double-checking all his documents when he noticed the little blinking light on his phone. It was a voicemail. Sam opened it, seeing it was from Jess as he sat down to listen.

_Hey, I'm back home! We're missing you. Dad wanted you to have his special lasagne. I asked him to pack some for when you get back. Tell Dean I love him. Cas, too. Love you!_

His heart filled with a sense of longing for a moment, but it was interrupted when someone coughed from the doorway. Sam looked up to see Cas, who had a slight smile on his face. "You should propose, Sam," he said.

Sam's heart skipped a beat. He combed his fingers through his hair again and nodded, trying not to look into Cas's eyes. "I… I yeah, I guess, I don't know." He needed to talk to Dean about this, and he did love Cas, but he needed Dean first. He cleared his throat. "You know everything, so…"

He wasn't even sure if he was making sense.

He could feel Cas's gaze on him as his brother-in-law spoke. "I do know." There was a moment of silence. "We should leave now."

Sam picked up his briefcase and his cane. "Sure."

**~o~**

"Mr. Winchester, your clients have no convincing alibis that they weren't present at the crime scene on both days the bodies were found."

Cas watched Sam lean into his chair and wished he could look half as confident as that. There was sweat pooling on his upper lip and at the dip in his neck and he could barely open his mouth and answer the questions that Henriksen was asking. He wished Dean were with him now, but then he also knew that would be a bad idea.

"What do you have to say to that?" Henriksen demanded, briefly glancing at Cas.

"There were lots of people that evening, Agent, who would not be able to prove to you that they were not at the crime scene," Sam replied, voice placid. "Why is my client being scrutinised for this?"

"Because Dean Winchester owns the diner both victims were at before they were found dead," Henriksen told him.

"So?"

"And your brother-in-law here writes novels based on these incidents and they seem to be on-point with the information we have."

"If that's what you think proves that Cas is the murderer," Sam told him, "I think you should open the newspapers and see how much information is available about this case. On the Internet, too. Plus, all the events depicted in Cas's books are different. The circumstances of murder are different. Victims are different. Frequency of killings is different. The only real similarity here is that it's about a serial killer named after a mythical creature. Even the method of murder differs."

Henriksen arched an eyebrow. "What do you know about the method of murder?"

"I've read enough of both the newspapers and Cas's books to know that Cas is writing about cannibalism and lust killing, and the actual murderer you seem to be dealing with is a thrill killer."

"And you know the definition of all that? You and your client?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "We're not idiots. Writing a book proves nothing, Agent, and I think even you know that." Sam stared into Henriksen's eyes, his glance cold and menacing, and Cas could see the other man's resolve break a little. Sam, an extremely sweet-natured person, was capable of being equally scary, and Cas had gotten to know that in the last twelve or so years of knowing him. And he knew that Henriksen would soon realise that it would be better for him to back down.

Sam folded his arms over his chest. "Are we done here? Or are you going to arrest every artist who has based his or her work upon a real-life crime? I can present you with sufficient alibis for my clients on the day of the second murder.

"As for the first one," he said with a smirk, "I think Dean's already told you about that. We have an alibi there, too. Now, you might want to stop pointlessly chasing my clients. Because we both know you're trying to make a case out of nothing. Against my family. If you want to extend it, by all means, you can go on ahead and I'll make sure I prove you wrong." He narrowed his eyes, and Cas had goosebumps. But he relaxed when Sam put a hand on his shoulder and let out a long breath, addressing Henriksen again. "Not good for your reputation, when you're working a high-profile case like this, is it?"

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Henriksen looked like he was internally fuming but Sam's presence was solid, looming, and authoritative. Eventually, Henriksen crossed his arms and seemed to slump back ever so slightly. "We're done."

"Good." Sam stood up. "Cas?"

Cas complied and followed Sam out of the room, thinking of how proud Dean was going to be of his brother.

**~o~**

Dean took them all out to the bar that night.

Sam nursed a beer while watching his brother tell everyone around him about just how much of a genius he was, and he couldn't believe Dean sometimes. But he let his brother do it, and watched. Watched the happiness on Dean's face and his laugh and his pride and adoration and everything that Sam had always seen in him, coming out fourfold. And it was when Dean came back to sit next to him, to order another beer, when Sam found himself spilling a secret to his brother.

"I don't think I want to marry Jess."

**~o~**

"Talk to me."

Cas was asleep and it was one in the morning, Sam's favourite time of the day, because he loved the silence and peace. None of what was going on now was quiet or peaceful, though. Dean had come back from the bar with Sam and he seemed dejected, confused, and worried for Sam. Overprotective bastard.

He was perched on the edge of Sam's bed as Sam tried to turn away from his brother but he knew Dean would have none of it. And, okay, Sam was the one who had initiated this conversation, but he'd actually changed his mind about wanting to talk about it.

"Sam, come on, what the fuck is happening?" Dean asked him, sounding frustrated now. "You can't leave it there."

"Watch me," Sam muttered under his breath.

"Did she say something? Jess? Do I have to talk to her?"

"No – no… I…"

"You _what_?"

Sam finally looked up at his brother and Dean sighed, sadness etched in his face. "Sammy."

"Cas asked me," Sam said. "He asked me earlier today whether I'd be proposing."

"Okay." Dean's face was scrunched in confusion, like he still didn't get it.

Sam licked his lip. "Dean, I've been with Jess a couple of years now. You think she wants me to propose?"

"You don't have to," Dean told him. "I dated Cas for nine years. Getting married ain't the be-all end-all."

"Yeah, but I don't—I can't—"

"I know," Dean told him. He moved closer, putting a hand on Sam's arm. "I know, Sammy. Take it easy. It ain't like you to be like this about anything, man."

"Jess must be—"

"You'll figure it out," Dean told him, leaning forward to run his fingers through Sam's hair once, and Sam shut his eyes and took it in because God, he fucking _missed_ Dean sometimes.

Dean stroked Sam's hair another time, and then once more, and Sam's eyes were heavy as he heard his brother's light humming and felt the familiar calloused fingers in his hair over and over again and he was drifting away before he could even open his mouth to thank his elder brother.

**~o~**

"What the hell, man?"

Cas jerked awake when Dean entered their room, talking as loudly as he could. He shut the door behind him and landed heavily on the bed. "What the fucking hell?"

"I need context," Cas yawned, rubbing his eyes, nonchalant at Dean's anger.

"Who asked you to interfere with Sammy's personal life?" Dean hissed at him, pulling away Cas's blankets. His brain buzzed with anger because Cas, of all people, _knew_. He _knew_ about Sam and there had been absolutely no reason to freak him out like that about Jess.

"You messed Sam up, you bastard," Dean growled.

"What are you talking about? I didn't do anything, Dean."

"Yeah? You weren't goddamned excited about him and Jess getting married?"

"Yes, so I asked him a simple question."

Dean clenched his jaw. "You know how shitty this past year has been for him. You know we're not supposed to introduce or suggest any sudden changes in his life."

"How is this a sudden change? He lives with her already."

"Yeah, Cas, but marriage a big thing for him. You know that. It's huge for him, okay? It might have not changed much for us but you know he thinks of it in a very different way."

Cas stared at Dean for a long moment and sighed. "I…" He hesitated. "I know the doctor said no sudden changes, Dean, but I thought Sam might appreciate a positive one at this point. He's had a hard year. Jessica is a wonderful woman. He was listening to her voicemail like it was the most precious—"

"So he likes her!" Dean interjected.

" _Likes_ her? Dean, if they have a future together it's best they pursue it. Sam doesn't just _like_ Jessica."

"He doesn't want to marry her."

"Why?"

"Because it's a free fucking country, why do you think?" Dean glared at his husband.

Cas met his eyes, blinking innocently through Dean's most malicious glare, and Dean wanted to throttle the asshole. Cas sighed. "Go to sleep, Dean."

"You don't know Sam."

Cas lay back down and adjusted himself under the covers, yawning. "Sleep."

"Don't tell my brother what to do."

"I meant well. I didn't want to hurt him. I'll apologise in the morning," Cas said quietly, reaching for Dean's hand. "Now can we sleep?"

Dean pulled his hand away. "He's not your brother."

Cas's face fell, both at his empty hand and Dean's statement. He took a deep breath, and Dean knew he was guarding his own erupting fury. "You know I'd do anything for Sam. Why are you talking like this? Why are you making a mountain out of a molehill?"

"No, fuck you."

"There is no need to be so angry," Cas snapped, and Dean realised that this was the end of his calmness. "Stop behaving like I committed a crime, Dean. Sam will be over this in the morning. I'll apologise if required. Stop blaming me for things that don't even make sense."

And fuck him. Cas had been a pissy little asshole for two days now, with his ' _you hurt me, Dean_ ,' and _'you don't care about my feelings,'_ and _Dean_ was the one making mountains out of molehills here? Seriously?

Cas turned around and buried his face into the pillow. "Just lie down," he said in a muffled voice.

Dean obeyed and lay down beside Cas, crossing his arms. "You've changed. I don't like it."

"You have, too."

"No, I haven't."

Cas surfaced from his pillow. "You're being rude and inconsiderate and you're angry for no reason."

"I was always like that, Cas. Maybe you're being a bitch about this."

"No, you weren't always like that. I'd know."

Dean snorted. "Seriously, dude. You're a bigger bitch than Sammy."

"Stop saying that."

"What, _bitch_?"

Dean could sense Cas's wince at that one. "Please don't call me that. You know—"

"Go to sleep, whiny bitch." Dean laughed.

"What is wrong with you?"

"It's been twelve years," Dean said. "Get the fuck over it. And you were the one who said I was rude and inconsiderate. So I need to fit into my new description, don't I?"

There was silence. Silence so thick, Dean thought he could hear his own heartbeat. He wondered if he'd gone too far. But Cas was not some wuss. He could take a beating and God knows, Dean was very much aware of that. And they'd be okay tomorrow.

"Dean."

His husband's voice cut the silence, hurt reverberating through every sentence. Dean felt Cas shift beside him. He turned around, only to see Cas take his pillows and blanket.

"Hey, hey, whoa, Cas—!"

Cas walked to the door and opened it. "I'm sorry about what I said to Sam, but I wish you'd think a bit more before you talked. There was a world of other things you could have called me," he said, "but you've really changed, you know." And he left the room before Dean could respond, shutting the door behind him and leaving Dean blinking at the darkness.

**o**

**_-Then-_ **

Dean met Cas for the first time when he was living in his sixth (and last) foster home. John had been dead two years then and Sam was with Dean this time, unlike those horrid instances when they'd been dragged to separate foster homes. And that was really counterproductive to CPS because they had always ultimately run away from foster care to find each other, so thank fuck everyone had their head in the right place this time.

Their current foster dad was a wealthy, retired English professor named David Banks—and he was so nice, Dean couldn't trust him. Their foster mom was better, though she was rude and decidedly did not like Sam and Dean. Dean didn't mind that. At least she wasn't trying to look or sound nice so he could always trust her to dislike Sam. The fact that he couldn't read her husband completely was discomforting.

He'd been eighteen for more than four months already, living on extended support until he finished high school. He had a plan in place for when he could get out of here and take Sam with him. Of course, they had Bobby waiting for them out there in South Dakota and they could leave anytime. Bobby was their dad's friend. John had left Sam and Dean at Bobby's a lot when they were kids and he was out on his business trips.

Dean reckoned he and Sam needed to wait for a bit to get back to Bobby, though. Both their schooling was paid for and this family didn't bother either of them, so Dean was sitting his ass down for a bit now. Uprooting Sammy to switch schools wasn't a good idea at this time of the year, especially when the kid was finally making friends here.

Bobby had been trying to adopt them for ages now, but as it turned out, not many people trusted a grumpy drunk to be a good single dad. If those fuckheads knew that Bobby was _way_ better than half the assholes in the foster system, and actually even better than John, Sam and Dean would have been out of it long ago.

They just needed another month to finish school and then Dean was relocating them. Bobby had applied for legal guardianship and the papers would come through by the time they finished. He was pretty darned awesome, if not a little ornery, so Dean was happy to be going there. He'd just been telling himself, repeating to himself the benefits of taking whatever he and Sam got from the foster system until he could, and that was how he'd hung on so long anyway.

On the fateful day when Dean would meet his future husband, he had been helping Sam with homework for well over an hour. The kid was very good at it all, and Dean didn't see a point in Sammy insisting he sit close by and help, but he went with it. His brother got clingy sometimes. They'd had a shitty two years and Dean understood.

He was staring absently at the trig problems when he heard a nervous cough. He looked up to see yet another college guy, in his very early twenties from what it seemed, standing in their living room before them, looking unsure. Dean knew he was here for some good-old tutoring from the professor. The man tutored students from the university nearby for free (although there was a rumour about that Dean wasn't quite sure of) and he got many people coming to him to get help, which he provided in that annoyingly cheery demeanour of his. But Dean reckoned this was a good thing. Not many people had that kind of a heart. He still couldn't trust the prof, though.

Cas, as Dean would learn was his name, stood there in the living room for a good fifteen minutes while Dean pretended to ignore him and the others. He was all tense, clutching at his books and explaining to another student that he knew _this_ and couldn't understand _that_ and all Dean could see was that this dude was _hot_. And no, honestly, really hot. Cas was dressed in a plain t-shirt, a hoodie, and jeans, but everything about him, his eyes and that jaw and those fucking lips and…

"So you like him?" Sam muttered suddenly. "That new guy?"

Dean turned away, trying to concentrate on Sam's math problem. "I don't even know him," he managed, voice barely coming out of his throat because his head had other crazy ideas and, _no way_ , not right now. He bent closer to Sam's book. "So you know, you need to see your log tables for the—"

"You should talk to him."

"Do your homework."

"You can't fool me, Dean."

Dean stared at his brother for a moment before ruffling his hair, because, boy did he know how much he _couldn't_ fool his little brother. But he wasn't trying to fool Sam. He wanted to get out of this house as soon as possible and there was no time to look at dudes right now. Even if they were really pretty dudes and…

He took a deep breath. One month. He'd be able to leave in a month. Then he was hauling ass to Bobby's with Sam and they were going to have a great life, even better than this peaceful last leg of his stint in foster care.

The students came in, Sam finished his homework and went off for a game of football with his friends, but Dean found himself hanging around, staring now and then at the closed study, waiting for the tutoring session to end, but he couldn't—he just wanted to look and he knew he was leaving, and—

The door opened, and the young man walked out. His gaze connected with Dean's once again as he headed to the door. A gaze that took Dean aback by how deep and sincere it was. His eyes were blue, hair dark and a little messy. His lips looked chapped, corrugated, somehow, and Dean had to hold his breath for a minute as he looked away.

He kept holding it, only to let it out when he heard the door shut and knew the stranger was gone.


	4. The Pawnbroker

**Three: The Pawnbroker**

Cas woke up to moist, warm lips on his cheek.

He opened his eyes and squinted at the sudden brightness, tearing up, and let out a sigh as Dean kissed him again, pecking at his jaw, and then beneath his ear. His husband was kneeling beside the couch that Cas had slept on, honestly intending to make up by being overtly affectionate.

Cas simply turned away.

"C'mon," Dean murmured, cupping Cas's chin affectionately, and for a moment, Cas wanted to give in, but then he remembered the things Dean had said last night. And if he just got up from here, letting Dean do whatever he wanted to and telling him it was all right, Dean would repeat all the nonsense he'd said and done last night, and Cas knew that. He wanted an end to whatever had gotten to his husband over the last three days.

"Cas," Dean called out in a slight whine, when Cas wasn't pliant to his romantic gestures. "Come on, babe."

It was unusual for Dean to be so sweet. And ' _babe_ '? Cas wasn't sure Dean had ever even _imagined_ that endearment, much less called someone by it.

He yawned, squirming away from his husband. "What do you want?" he asked Dean, crossing his arms over his chest. His back hurt, reminding him of every muscle in there that existed, and he promised himself that he'd be sending Dean to the couch the next time.

"Who said—?"

"Dean, I didn't even know you were aware of the word ' _babe'_ ," he grumbled. "So out with it. Or let me continue sleeping."

Dean moved away at that, scratching at the back of his neck. He grinned. "Wanna go on a road trip?"

**~o~**

Sam tossed a small bag into the trunk of the car and squinted at Cas, who was standing with his arms folded. He knew Dean and Cas had fought again and it had taken some extra time to get Cas to agree to their impromptu road trip. He had been grumpy and unyielding to Dean, and ultimately, Sam pleaded with him to come along, to which he agreed.

He had just finished shutting the trunk of his brother's beloved Impala when the gate opened and Charlie trotted into the yard, followed closely by Kevin. Their faces brightened up when they saw Sam.

"Hey!" He limped forward as Charlie pulled him into a hug. Kevin shook hands with him before stuffing them shyly into his pocket. Sam pushed his hair back and glanced at the house, where Dean was checking the windows and bathrooms. "Dean's in the house. He'll be right out."

"That's okay, we'll wait," Charlie told him. "How come you left the diner without saying hey, though?"

Oh. Yesterday, Sam hadn't stuck around because he'd had to go meet Henriksen with Cas, but Charlie's expression got him digging his heel into the ground. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I was in a hurry."

She locked eyes with him. "All good?"

"All good," he promised, shrugging. "Just had some legal stuff to sort out for Cas's book."

"He's promised us an early copy," Kevin supplied, and Charlie nodded. "Is that still on?"

Cas gave them a smile that indicated he needed stool softeners. "Yes."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Yes, I am, Charlie, and it is good to see you two around here. You should come over for dinner." This time, Cas's grin was more convincing.

Charlie sighed. "You fought with Dean, didn't you? He's an ass—"

"Charlie," Kevin interrupted as she started to make her way into the house, but she stopped, deflated. "Don't," Kevin said to her. "Leave them be. They'll sort it out."

Sam grinned at the two of them, controlling his laughter, as Cas looked ashamed of being told off by kids.

Charlie rolled her eyes. "You guys are ridiculous, you know that?"

"Yeah," Sam told her. "They know that, Charlie. They won't stop. They just need to sleep on it most days. Don't worry."

"Yeah, and if your brother would hurry up, _we_ could go home and sleep," she grumbled.

Sam reached for his cane. "I'll get him."

"No, no it's okay." She caught his hand, embarrassed, and Sam saw a glint of sympathy in her eyes.

God, he hated that look. It was constantly showered on him by every Tom, Dick, and Harry and Sam sometimes wanted to gouge out all their sorry-looking eyes.

He shrugged Charlie's look away, taking a sharp breath. "I'm – I'm fine… I can do it, you know. I'll get him."

"Yeah, yeah." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, sensing the change in his demeanour at once. "Sorry, I… let's just talk until he comes back, okay?"

Sam looked at her for a long moment, suppressing the storms that were erupting inside him, and cleared his throat. "Okay."

"Okay," she said.

And they just stood like that in awkward silence, until Dean finally came along.

**~o~**

"Are you going around telling people I'm a cripple or something?"

Sam tried to remain as calm as possible as Dean drove them to South Dakota. The radio was blaring out some of Dean's favourite songs and Sam was already getting a headache. They were going to Bobby's house in Sioux Falls. The house held a lot of nostalgia for all of them, especially Sam and Dean, since they'd lived there two years with Bobby.

Two years of a great life, which had ended very abruptly when Bobby was killed by a mugger who put a bullet in his head.

"I didn't tell anyone anything, Sam," Dean said, steering Sam into their present conversation. "You know I wouldn't do that."

"Do you _think_ I'm a cripple?"

"What? N-No!"

Sam gritted his teeth and shut the radio off. His voice was low and snarling in the silence of the car. "Don't _lie_."

Dean shivered in the silence, but didn't answer.

"Tell me, Dean," Sam demanded of him, quietly. "Tell me _now_."

Dean's fingers clutched the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white. "You have…" He cleared his throat. "It-it's just been bad for you, okay?"

"When did you decide that?"

"Dude, you had an accident."

"I think I know that. Don't _sympathise_ with me."

"Sammy—"

"Charlie seemed very sorry for me," Sam said, looking out of the window but not really seeing the scenery fly by. "What did you tell her that made her feel so awful?"

"Sam, she's just a sweet girl, will you drop it?"

"Just like you dropped that stupid squabble with Cas from last night?"

"Does that matter?" Dean glanced at the rear view mirror, which reflected Cas's sleeping form. He had started off the journey just looking out of the window and not talking, with his arms tightly folded against his chest. He hadn't reacted to anything Sam or Dean said, making Sam wonder if he had been listening at all before he'd fallen asleep.

"It does matter," said Sam, "because, once again, you fought about me."

"Who told you that?"

"I talk to Cas, too, you know. You hurt him."

Dean turned to the backseat, but his eyes were back on the road before Sam could tell him off for it. "That's personal."

"Sure, you telling him I'm a cripple who needs to be in a bubble is personal, and not about me at all."

"Sam, I need to take—"

"Fuck off," Sam told him, mildly satisfied at the hurt that flashed on Dean's face. "You don't own me _or_ Cas, okay? And you sure as hell don't get to decide what I'm too delicate or strong to handle on my own. Cas just asked me a question about Jess. It wasn't your cue to become my white knight. I didn't ask for that."

Dean kept looking ahead, licking his lip. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, and you're going to say that to Cas, too."

"I did—"

"You didn't. He just wants you to say it from your heart and mean it."

"Maybe _you_ shouldn't interfere with this now," Dean muttered, and Sam felt another surge of anger.

" _What_?"

Dean clenched his jaw and stayed silent for a moment, but he swallowed and turned his head to Sam. "I know what we argued about was related to you, but keep away from our personal life, Sam."

And his face was so earnest, so angry, that Sam couldn't help but hold back a snort.

"What, it sound funny to you?" Dean asked him. "That I told you not to butt your nose into my married life?"

"No," Sam told him, "it's funny to me that you think you didn't seriously hurt Cas, and that he didn't talk to me about it today, because let's get this straight, Dean, you've upset him."

Dean scoffed. "So he bitches to you about me now, to get you to have me apologise? Fantastic."

Sam glared at his brother. "He's my friend and he was hurt and you and I are the only people he talks to. It's not called bitching and you should know better than to hurt him. You said some really shady shit to him last night, didn't you?"

"So what? Dude's not a delicate flower. I know him."

"There are lines with everyone, Dean. Don't cross them."

Dean scoffed again. "Don't go telling me that crap about—"

"There are, and there will always be lines," Sam interrupted him. "Don't cross them. Are you going to keep that in mind?"

"Yeah. Now fuck off."

 _"_ _Are you?"_ Sam lowered his voice, shifting slightly closer to his brother.

He felt another tinge of satisfaction when Dean let out a light shudder. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it, Sam."

**~o~**

Henriksen tightened his coat as he stood outside the pawnshop. He observed the sign for a moment, mentally calculating the evidence he had against this guy. His name was Fergus McLeod and from the looks of it, he was a loan shark. Which meant, even if he didn't happen to be the killer, he _was_ a criminal.

But he _had_ to have had something to do with the murders. Both victims took money from this man and he'd not been in town around the time of the other murders, either. And, really, the only proof Henriksen had against the Winchesters was that damn book, which had some pretty uncannily similar details to the actual murders. But then, like Dean's younger brother had said, the Internet nowadays held too much information.

Plus, no matter how hard he tried to insist otherwise, their alibi for the second murder was actually watertight. Henriksen had checked with some of the people who'd been at the book reading that day and the Winchesters had alibis for every moment of the day. Their neighbours didn't have much to say about them, either, that they came over to say hey and Dean brought over pies and sent barbecue invites… and they seemed like any other family. As for the other murder…

Henriksen scrubbed his hand down his face. He never wanted to have to see that video again. He didn't exactly believe them because there had to be something going on there, but no, that video was on the list of things he never needed to see again.

He opened the door to the store, the bells above the doorframe clinking as he entered. The shop looked too posh to be a pawnshop, the décor tasteful although gloomy and dank.

Standing at the counter to his left was a red-haired woman who stood up the moment she saw him. "Fergus!" she called out before smiling sweetly at Henriksen. "My name is Rowena. How can we help you, dear?"

Henriksen registered the heavy Scottish accent and smiled back at her. "I need to speak to Crowley."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, he keeps telling everyone _that_ is his name. It's not. He was born with a much better name, but my poor boy, always so ashamed of it."

Henriksen raised his eyebrow. "You're his _mother_?"

"I don't look like it, do I?" she asked him proudly. "Everyone wants to know my beauty secrets, and it's all just about how I keep my face free of wrinkles and—"

"Mother, are you boring my poor customers again?" a voice interrupted her, and a man emerged from the backroom, pulling the deep red curtains apart briefly. He was wearing a black suit, dressed too well to be a pawnbroker. He laid eyes on Henriksen, then slid behind the counter and held out his hand. "Crowley. How can I help you?"

Henriksen reached into his pocket for his ID. "I'm Special Agent Victor Henriksen," he said, flashing his credentials. Crowley pulled his hand back and Rowena narrowed her eyes.

"Mother," Crowley said, voice calm, "go to the back."

Rowena crossed her arms over her chest. "I think I'll stay right here, Fergus."

"God, stop _calling_ me that—" Crowley gritted his teeth and looked back at Henriksen. "I heard you're investigating the Winchesters. I can tell you a whole lot about them."

"I'm just investigating you for now, Mr Crowley," said Henriksen, standing back a little. "Did you or did you not lend both the murder victims money?"

Crowley shrugged. "I have a big heart. Sue me."

"I don't think being a loan shark is the same as having a big heart. As I understand, they also weren't in a position to return your loans, either, at least not anytime soon."

"So? I can't ask for my money back now?"

Henriksen let out a deep breath. This man was shady. He looked around the shop one more time and decided that he'd be coming back to search the place with a warrant. "Where were you three days ago?"

"When Miller died?" Crowley asked him. "Right here in this shop. You can confirm that with my mother."

Henriksen turned around to Rowena, who winked at him. He clenched his fists. "Any definitive proof?"

"What, I'm not definitive enough?" Rowena piped up, walking to him with her nose in the air.

"Your _word_ isn't enough," Henriksen said to her. "You're his mother. If he had killed those people, you wouldn't tell me. Don't you have cameras here?"

"I had them," Crowley said. "Until mother," he glared at her, "started bringing in company. I didn't want to go blind from shock and disgust." He paused. "Look, I didn't kill them, okay?"

"I never said you did."

"Why don't you check with the goddamned Winchesters first?" Crowley spat at him. "Everyone loves them, so they couldn't be criminals, is that it? They go out of town every bleeding month and _I'm_ the suspect here?"

This was new to Henriksen. That horrible man had not mentioned his monthly excursions with his husband. It still wouldn't fit with the murders here in Tyngsborough, but he wanted to keep them in mind.

"They take that freak-of-nature little brother with them, too," Crowley continued, apparently realising that he'd caught Henriksen's attention. "And everybody who thinks Sam Winchester is nothing but a bloody puppy should talk to me."

"Why, what's the matter? Did he threaten you?"

"Threaten?" Crowley scoffed. "No one _threatens_ me, mate. But Sam Winchester storming in here, demanding that I stop lending people money because he'd have a case up against me nearly ruined my business. Bloody moose can't keep his giant muzzle out of anything."

"So you _are_ a loan shark." Henriksen was a little disappointed at the information he was getting about the Winchesters. He wasn't done with them yet, but Sam Winchester being intimidating was not evidence. Henriksen had met his fair share of lawyers who were just like that, and worse.

"I told you, darling. I'm generous." Crowley took a step forward. "And you're just gorgeous, you know? What I wouldn't give to see you—"

"Shut up," Henriksen muttered sharply before he could finish. He glanced at Rowena, who seemed to be enjoying herself way too much, gathered himself, and nodded curtly. "I'll be back to talk to you."

Crowley gave him a half-smirk and a wink as he waved. "Can't wait."

Feeling a bit of warmth rush up his cheeks, Henriksen quickly exited the shop.

**~o~**

Bobby's house was old and dusty like it always had been. Dean stole glances at Cas as he brought their luggage inside, Sam's insistent glares piercing him uncomfortably. Cas had been quiet even after he woke up, quiet at the diners and the motel they stopped at, and even though he'd shared a room with Cas, Dean had never lived in such horrible, mood-busting silence. Cas wasn't even receptive to Dean trying to cuddle him at night, and he usually loved that shit. So Dean had given up for now.

He wanted to talk to Cas, but he also just wanted his husband to stop being grumpy for a bit and open up first. That would make his job a little easier. And, sure, he knew he and Cas would make up, there was no question about that, but Sam sitting on his head wasn't helping.

By the time Dean had put their luggage in their respective rooms, Sam was already in the kitchen, cleaning and making room for the groceries they'd gotten on the way. Dean went to help him, but his brother stopped him, clutching Dean's wrist when he tried to take the meat out.

"You promised something," he muttered, and Dean wanted to grumble and yell.

"Sammy, you need to rest—"

"Not a cripple, Dean," Sam told him, nostrils flaring, and Dean knew he needed to leave it there. He relented.

"Okay. You want me to talk to him now?"

"Yes. Take him out to the yard," Sam suggested.

Dean smiled at his brother briefly. He knew exactly why Sam was saying that, and as he thought back to all those years ago when they'd lived here, he could feel his heart filling up. So he went searching for Cas, but he didn't really have to do that for long as he found him slumped on the sofa.

Dean inhaled deeply, preparing himself, and bent forward and took Cas's hand. "Hey. Come with me."

Cas turned away. Sighing, Dean sat beside him on the sofa, putting an arm around him and ignoring his squirming. "You gotta listen to me, Cas. I mean, I could carry you out of here but Sam won't spare you if he sees that."

Cas didn't reply, pretending to ignore Dean, and Dean wrapped his other arm around his husband, resting his forehead against Cas's. "I'm sorry," he said. "For real, okay? I shouldn't have said those things. I get angry sometimes and you know that." Cas resisted again, making Dean pull away for a bit. "I ain't making excuses, love. I know I shouldn't have said that even angry, but tell me what you want me to do."

His husband let out a sharp breath. "Once again, that word is not in your vocabulary. And you hate cuddling."

"What word?"

" _Love_."

"So I can't call you some stupid cutesy name and try and do something you like to apologise now?" Dean asked him. "Because you complain when I don't do this stuff and now you don't want it when I'm trying to tell you…" Dean gulped, the words stuck in his throat. "I don't mind doing all this crap for you, okay? I'm sorry. I just wanna talk again."

He was starting to get frustrated because, honestly, Cas seemed to be basking in all this shit that made Dean look like an idiot. And okay, Dean was usually pretty much ready to do anything for Cas because he _loved_ Cas (and he knew Cas felt the same). But it had been about two fucking days since that fight and Dean _was_ trying to do whatever he could to make it up to Cas. Especially after Sam told him off yesterday. And he knew he was wrong and he was apologising, dammit! Couldn't Cas listen for one fucking moment and see that Dean was sincere about this?

His thoughts were interrupted when Cas sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I don't care what you call me, Dean. I am fond of you for who you are, and I am happy with you the way you are. But you hurt me that night."

"I know."

"You didn't. Sam had to make you realise that."

"He tell you that?"

"No, Dean, but I know you." Blue eyes sparkled innocently, gazing into Dean's, and God, sometimes Cas was so gorgeous, Dean just wanted to sweep him off his feet. But he resisted.

"You gonna punish me for that?" he asked. "That's just how—"

"You said you wouldn't make excuses," Cas pointed out. "And Dean, you have to stop being so insensitive."

"You know I'm not the kinda guy who can be all emo and touchy. Not me, or you, or—"

"I know," Cas told him. "I'm not talking about that. The only family I have is you and Sam, and the same goes for you when it comes to us. And we care for you, Dean, so stop being an ass to us all the time. We're not asking you to be," he made air quotes, "' _emo'_. We just want you to be _considerate_."

Dean turned away at that last comment, feeling the colour rise up his cheeks. He hated being reprimanded like this, and he hated even more to admit that Cas was right. But… Cas _was_ right. Dean didn't have family outside of his brother and his husband and he should have known better than to do what he did.

Cas broke the silence. "Are you really sorry?"

Dean did not even think twice before nodding. "Yes. Yes, I am, Cas. I shouldn't have called you b – _that_ , okay? I know you were just looking out for Sam."

"Thank you."

Dean leaned over and kissed Cas's mouth. "You wanna go for a walk in the yard?"

Cas nodded before pecking Dean back, and at the feel of his lips, Dean felt his whole body tingle as though he was a teenager again. Only fucking Cas could make him feel like this. Fuck him.

Actually… Dean was going to hold on to that thought for tonight.

Cas chuckled. "I'll go with you. And why are you blushing? What happened?"

" _You_ happened," Dean muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face, hoping instantly that Cas hadn't heard that.

Unfortunately Cas's hearing was too good. "That is, for the lack of a better word, _cute_ , Dean."

"Shut up."

He gripped Dean's hand and they stood up to head out of the house together. It was nearing dusk and the sky was turning orange, cool breezes blowing at them in all directions as Dean manoeuvred his husband around the carcasses of cars, reliving the first years of their lives together.

**~o~**

Jess called just as Sam had finished cutting up the chicken. Dean and Cas had been gone for just over five minutes now. Jess had phoned yesterday, too, and Sam had told her he was staying over in Tyngsborough a while, not that he was in South Dakota. He'd stalled it on purpose, knowing she'd get upset. Not that he was scared of her getting upset, but it was unnecessary. But she was also waiting for him to meet her at her parents' place, so he had to tell her the truth. And that had to happen now.

He took a deep breath when he put the phone to his ear.

"Hey."

 _"_ _Hey!"_ Jess was really cheerful, and Sam could hear chattering in the background, proving she had company. _"I'm waiting for you, you know,"_ she said. _"I just called to ask for your arrival time and—"_ She went on about her parents and some dinner party as Sam tuned out of whatever she was saying.

He shut his eyes briefly. "Jess, I won't be coming there."

 _"—_ _and, you know, there's this—wait,_ what _?"_

He let out a breath. "I'm in South Dakota."

 _"_ _When did you get there?!"_

"Just—an hour or so ago. We drove."

 _"_ _So… that means…"_

"There was a thing, okay? So…"

She sighed. _"You could have just told me yesterday, Sam. That you weren't coming back until your leave ended."_

"Yeah, listen, I'm sorry."

 _"_ _It's all right."_ She sounded dejected, and Sam pressed his lips together.

"I'll," he swallowed, "I'll make it up to you, okay? I'll see you soon."

She chuckled from the other side of the line, her voice dipping a few octaves and getting sexy. _"You better, Sam Winchester."_

"Yes." He ran a hand through his hair. "I… I have to cook, so…"

 _"_ _Okay."_ She laughed once again. _"I love you."_

"Yeah," he replied. "Yeah." And before he could hear a response, he cut the call.

Then he laughed for five whole minutes about the lack of tact that he'd clearly inherited from his brother, and wondered if Dean and Cas were truly making up somewhere in that yard. But—no, disgusting. He didn't want to actually _think_ about it.

Grabbing his cane, he walked to a cabinet to get the salt out, and got back to cooking dinner.

**~o~**

"Remember how you came over to meet me every few weekends?"

Cas laughed at Dean's remark, taking his hand as they turned around an old truck. "Yes," he said, "I remember that. I was quite smitten with you."

"What, and you aren't now?" Dean turned around to wink at him, eyes sparkling as always, with a subtle tonguing of his lower lip, and Cas's heart jumped.

"No," he lied.

Dean took a step forward, grabbing Cas to pull him closer. "Really?"

"Yes." And Cas could feel a smirk building, because he knew what was coming.

Dean pushed him against the truck with a thump, dust flying around as he braced Cas's wrists. He bent close, then closer, their bodies touching as he ground against Cas. "Say that again," he whispered into Cas's ear, rocking his hips against him once more.

"N-No." Cas's head fell back against peeling paint, dislocating more dust, and Dean's lips met his, the kiss hot and fast, lips sliding over each other, tongues colliding, and Dean's hand was unbuckling Cas's belt, reaching for his crotch when—

Cas pushed Dean away, that being the only warning he could give before he sneezed all over his husband.

"Fuck! _Cas_!" Dean jumped back, face contorted in disgust as Cas stood there, gasping.

"Dean, I'm sorry."

His husband wiped his face on his sleeve. "Gross, man!"

Cas could feel himself blushing. "I'm sorry. It's just… it's just too dusty here." He rubbed his wrist against his nose and opened his arms. "It won't happen again."

"Well, tough shit, because I ain't doing it again," Dean said with a shrug as he started to walk towards the house.

Cas took a moment to pick up on that and he was reaching for his belt as he took off after his husband. "Where are you going?"

Dean stopped walking and turned around, grinning at him. "What's the matter, Cas, you ain't smitten with me anymore or nothing!"

Cas rolled his eyes. "You know that was a joke."

"I know."

" _Deeeeeean_ …" Cas never whined, but that had been _amazing_ , and he wanted Dean to do that again. It was why he'd egged Dean on in the first place.

But no, he wasn't going to _beg_.

"You about to whine now, Cas?"

"No."

Dean laughed. "This was a joke, too, man. Come on inside. I ain't getting sneezed on again, or worse, a tetanus shot just 'cause of fucking you against some dirty car. Sammy will go to sleep pretty quickly after dinner, so…" He winked and walked on further.

Cas hurried to catch up with him. "But our first time. You remember that?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You think I'd ever forget?" he asked.

"It was in an old truck."

"Yeah, and all that junk's a dozen years older and we aren't kids sneaking from Bobby anymore," Dean replied, and frankly, Cas was astonished, because Dean was never one to refuse sex. But then again, Dean could be strange about some things. It was a wonder how many new things Cas could still learn about his husband, even after having known him for twelve years now.

Dean extended his hand to Cas again and Cas obliged, surprised as his husband moved closer to him. They headed back to the house, the sunset colouring them in tones of red and yellow, and the last of the birds chirping as they headed to their nests. All of a sudden, Dean stopped walking, and Cas turned to him.

"Dean?"

"I miss Bobby."

The confession was so quiet, so heart wrenching, Cas knew he wouldn't have heard it had it not been almost completely silent around them. If there was one thing he knew Sam and Dean would never get over, it was Bobby's death.

He made his way ahead of Dean to face him and cupped his cheeks. "I know," he said, "but he's watching over you and Sam."

Dean nodded. Nodded too swiftly, unwilling to meet eyes with Cas. "Yeah," he said. "But it's not fair."

"No, it's not."

"He adopted us. Adopted me and Sam when—"

"Yes, I was there."

"If…" Dean swallowed audibly, and this time, anguished eyes turned up to lock with Cas's, making his heart sink. "If he could come back…"

Cas leaned forward and kissed Dean's lips. Dean sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment before nodding, and then letting Cas hold him for a bit. They started walking towards the house again, Cas speaking to Dean in a low voice.

"He never went anywhere, Dean. He was always with you, and he is going to continue being with you."

The squeeze Dean gave his hand in gratitude was enough to fill Cas's heart for a million lifetimes.

Later that evening after dinner, Dean strummed on an old guitar, his beautiful voice filling up the room. It didn't even take long for Sam to fall asleep to his music. This was not really a new phenomenon anyway, so when it happened, Dean just smiled fondly and tucked Sam into bed as though he were a little child. Sam, who, Cas knew, was anything but a child and hated to be treated as such, was always receptive to any such gestures from Dean. If possible, his heart was fuller.

When Dean came back to Cas and wrapped his arms around him, whispering sweet and sexy things underneath their blanket, in the chill of the night air, Cas knew that he could never ever question his love for the man he'd married. He could never question the fact that each day, he only fell deeper and deeper in love with Dean.

He didn't regret that for one minute.

**o**

**-Then-**

It had been ten days since Cas had started getting tutored by David Banks that one of the foster sons finally spoke to him. He didn't know his name, and he constantly avoided the foster children because he was here for his education, nothing else. However, he'd caught the older teenaged boy staring at him on more than one occasion, so when he approached Cas, he wasn't really sure what to do. He was never that good at talking to people.

"I'm Dean," the teenager said, holding out a hand boldly before Cas could even think further.

He blinked at Dean and cleared his throat. "Castiel."

"I know."

He raised an eyebrow, confused, and Dean shrugged. "I saw your name on that book you'd left the other day." He grinned. "Castiel Novak. Cas?"

"No one's ever called me that."

"Well, _I_ am now." And he'd winked.

So that was definitely a flirtation.

Cas immediately took a step back. "You're – you're a… sorry, please don't be flirtatious. It's not ethical of me to make such talk with a minor. I do not get attracted to children."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Aaaand he had to make it awkward," he muttered. The green in his irises sparkled, though, as he chuckled. "I turned eighteen four months ago, dude. I'm on extended foster care. So…not a minor. Just broke until I finish school. Then I can take up a fulltime job and be a _real_ adult."

"You're still a high school student," Cas said, turning away. "I cannot—I'm sorry." He was ready to leave, but Dean's fingers snagged Cas's belt loop.

"Does this mean you'll talk to me once I graduate?"

Cas clenched his fists. Because, no. Obviously not. Dean was younger than him by four years and he might be eighteen, but that was just barely being an adult.

_No._

"You gonna give me an answer?" Dean asked him, moving closer still, and Cas took another step back. He did not want any more contact with the teenager. And there was just one way to get rid of him right now.

"We can talk after you graduate."

Dean let him go. "Cool. I'll see you in twenty days." He walked back and Cas made the mistake of meeting gazes with him, only to witness another wink, so before Dean could say anything else, he had slung his bag onto his shoulder and exited the house.


	5. The Stalker

**Four: The Stalker**

**Yankton, South Dakota**

Clif ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

His heart was thumping hard against his chest, rattling at his rib cage like it wanted to get out. He heard the footsteps, muffled and ominous and following him swiftly as he ran. He could see a dead end coming up. Taking a deep breath, he jumped into an alley, praying, praying, and…

 _Fuck_. Another dead end.

The street lights flickered and Clif eyed the abandoned building before him and the fire escape and was preparing to jump again when he saw them. His assailants rounded into the alley, faces obscured in the darkness, knives making silver reflections in the moonlight. Heart thumping even worse than before, Clif didn't think twice as he leapt onto the fire escape, swinging forward to climb it.

Instantaneously, a hand pulled at his ankle. "Not so fast, Daniels."

The voice was hoarse, strange, and Clif struggled, screaming when a blade tore into his flesh. Another hand joined the first. Clif kicked at them both, yelling again. "HELP!"

"No one's going to hear you here."

Clif shivered at the voice. Blood was wetting his foot now, warm and syrupy, and the pain made itself evident as the hands came back to grip at him. One finger pressed at his wound and he gave out another cry, resisting when another pair of hands started pulling him down.

"Don't fight," said the second man. "You're not going to escape."

Clif wanted to do all in his power to prove him wrong, but as he tugged harder, he could feel his strength drain. The knife came back to his calf, piercing into him. He screamed for a third time.

His attackers laughed. "Oh, I love it so much when these little bitches yell like that," one of them said.

The other person chuckled in agreement. "Has to be my favourite bit, too." He got serious, then, and yanked at Clif again. "Come on, Daniels, just give in."

The pain was excruciating, and in the battle of two-against-one, Clif knew he was losing. But the hands pulled at him relentlessly and his palms were sweating, and…

"No, no, AAAH—" He was down on the ground, a bone on his right arm letting out a crack at the impact, and nausea filled his senses as the two men closed in on him. The knives shone again, the air hopeless and dank, and the last thing Clif saw was the faces of his opponents as they leered down at him.

**~o~**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

"Well, if it isn't my favourite boys!"

"Mo!"

Dean bent over to hug the old lady and then moved so his husband and brother could do the same. Maureen Winters had been a part of their life ever since they'd moved in with Bobby, and her diner had been their favourite. Even Bobby, in all his ornery glory, had to admit that the pancakes here were the fluffiest he'd ever had.

Mo directed them to a table, summoning over a young waitress and smiling at them before giving her their orders. "Dean will have the complete breakfast plate with a short stack, and he likes fried eggs. Sam will have an omelette with toast and sausages, and Castiel will eat another short stack with sausages. And get them all some fresh coffee." She turned around, and Dean beamed at how she always remembered their orders.

"You just get younger, Mo," he told her.

"Oh, you stop with that flattery, dear," she said, drawing up a chair and sitting with them at the table. "How's everything going?"

"It's all great," Sam replied. "We're really great."

Dean glanced at Cas, placing a hand on his thigh, and he couldn't agree more with his brother. Last night had been a dreamy, ecstatic night of feeling Cas's body against him, holding him close and kissing him everywhere, listening to him gasp and call out Dean's name and bite his lips and sigh and marvel in just how hot his husband was. They'd cuddled after, followed by the best sleep he'd gotten in months, before a repeat of last night's activities in the morning, amounting to some of the best sex he'd had. And they'd had a nice talk for an hour before they got here, him and Sam and Cas, about this and that and everything, and Dean just felt happiness and love for his family enter his entire being, soak through his pores. He had two people in his life; just two. Sure, he had friends and then he had friends who were like family but Sam and Cas were his actual family and he'd never loved them more.

So of course, he couldn't be more contented than this.

He cleared his throat and glanced at Mo, ignoring Sam's funny gaze at him and embarrassed at the dreamy pictures in his head. "It's going great, Mo." He meant it, and damn, he felt like he was really high on some happy drugs, but he really meant it.

"That's nice to hear, hon." She smiled kindly at Cas. "So when am I getting an autograph from you?"

Cas coloured a little and bowed his head. "Anytime, Maureen. You don't even have to ask."

She laughed at that, and they continued their conversation, their talk moving on to Sam's job and wellbeing and Dean's diner and Cas's fan base, and it was like all the times they'd been here, like all the times they came to see her. Dean had missed this; missed Mo and Bobby's house and how this place always kept him happy, no matter what. It was like magic for him.

It wasn't long before their orders arrived and Mo got up. "You kids enjoy your meals," she said, "I'll be inside. And as such," she winked at Cas and Dean, "there are things going on here that need more privacy anyway."

Dean removed his hand from Cas's thigh like an electric current had passed through him. "Mo!"

"I'm just kidding, dear," she said. "Anyway, I should go. I need to catch up on the news about that whole murder thing."

Sam, who was picking up his fork, stiffened in his seat, as Dean got similarly alert. He could see Cas lean forward from the corner of his eye.

"What?" Sam asked Mo. "Murder?"

"Happened at Yankton early this morning," she said, sounding surprised that they didn't know. "They found the man's body around five. Didn't you hear?"

Dean sighed. "You know we're all isolated, Mo."

"That's why I say you should move closer to civilisation," she said. "Check it on your phones—or whatever it is you kids do. They think it's the _Creature_. It's the same as the rest of the murders. Same kind of victim, too, they say."

Dean let out a breath. "What, the FBI is here again? Dammit."

"Why, hon, is there a problem?"

"No, no problem." He tried to sound as convincing as possible, but the FBI was a fucking problem, to both him and Cas. Mo couldn't know that. "It's just… lotsa people getting killed."

"Yes, they are, aren't they? You kids watch your backs."

"Yeah, we will," Dean told her, picking up a piece of his bacon. "Don't worry about us."

She laughed as she retreated to the backroom. "That's the funniest thing I've heard all year!"

"What, that we can take care of ourselves?"

"No," she replied, poking her wrinkled face out, "you kids expecting me not to worry about you."

And she was gone, leaving Dean's heart warm, even though he knew what he'd heard just now from Mo couldn't mean good things for him and Cas at all. Because Yankton was just a few miles away. And Henriksen was going to come back to fuck things up again and Dean could bet his Impala on that.

**~o~**

**Tyngsborough, Massachusetts**

"Where is your client? Castiel Winchester?"

Henriksen folded his arms as he sat peacefully in Marv Jenkins's office, watching the short man's face constrict in disapproval.

"I can't tell you that," Marv told him. "These things are confidential."

"This is an FBI investigation. Give me the details I ask for, or I'll ruin your ass. We have a murder suspect working for you and I want his details _now_ ," Henriksen told him, leaning forward. "Do you understand me?"

Marv sighed. "Okay. Fine. You don't have to threaten me. Castiel is gone with his husband and brother-in-law to South Dakota."

"Where in South Dakota?"

"Sioux Falls."

"Thank you." Henriksen was exiting the overdone office when his phone began to ring. Seeing that it was from work, he picked it up. "Belle," he addressed his colleague. She was helping him from their Boston field office.

 _"_ _I have news for you, Victor."_

"Tell me."

 _"_ _There's been another murder."_

"Where?"

 _"_ _Yankton, South Dakota."_

Henrikson stopped short in his tracks. "Say that again?"

 _"_ _Yankton,"_ Belle replied. _"South Dakota."_

"And how far is that from…" He shut his eyes a moment to remember. "Sioux Falls?"

 _"_ _Give me a minute."_

"Sure."

He waited, sliding his free hand into his pocket, when Belle came back on the line _. "About eighty-nine miles,"_ she said. _"A ninety-minute drive."_

He clenched his fists. He shouldn't have let them get away. "I'm going there."

 _"_ _Yankton?"_

"Yes, and then Sioux Falls."

 _"_ _Are you going to tell me why?"_

"I will. Can the arrangements be made? To get there from Yankton, I mean? I'll do Sioux Falls on my own. I have a hunch. Don't tell anyone."

 _"_ _We confirmed the Winchesters had alibis, Victor. You interviewed them all. I personally think this Fergus McLeod, though…"_

Henriksen flinched at the name, remembering Crowley's wink. "He – He…" He cleared his throat. "We can't take him off the list, but at least he's definitely still in town right now."

 _"_ _Keep your mind open."_

"I know. I will. Just get me to Yankton."

 _"_ _Of course. I'll have someone talk to you in a bit."_

"Thanks." He disconnected the phone, clenching his fist as he pocketed it. "I've got you, you murdering bastards."

**~o~**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Sam did not expect Dean to ask him too much about what was going on with Jess, but unluckily for him, it came up. Morning drifted lazily into noon and despite the news from hours before, they'd all relatively stabilised. Dean had wanted to head back home, of course, before Henriksen found out they were here, but Sam had stopped him.

"That's a stupid idea," he said. "You and Cas were right here, fast asleep when that man was murdered, and Henriksen will find that out eventually."

"Yeah, I guess…"

Sam grabbed beers from the fridge. "Come on, Dean. We're on a vacation." He handed a bottle to Dean and offered one to Cas, who declined.

"I think I'd prefer to write a little bit."

Sam rolled his eyes. "No work here. You know the rules."

"It's relaxation for me," Cas replied. "I enjoy it. The weather and the place are perfect, and if you don't mind…"

Sam understood and nodded. "All right, Cas. Dean and I are on the porch and—"

"Actually, we're going over to the lake," Dean interrupted him. "So we'll take a bit."

"The lake?" Sam was confused.

"Yeah," Dean told him. "Grab the whole beer case, and Cas, sure you don't wanna come along?"

Cas nodded, stood on his toes, and kissed Dean's lips. "You go ahead."

"Okay."

This was how Sam and Dean had landed up at Lake Alvin, the Impala parked just outside the beach while they sat on the hood of the car. Sam had his sunglasses on and so did Dean as they leaned against the windshield, Dean's guitar resting on his lap. They shared peaceful silence for a few moments, drinking their cool beers in the pleasant warmth of the sun. It wasn't a hot day, but it wasn't cold, either, and the slight breeze felt nice.

Sam found himself rested, placid, until his brother spoke.

"You gonna tell me what's up?"

He turned over to Dean. "What? Nothing."

Dean seemed to struggle with something for a moment, but then he put his bottle down and adjusted himself so he was completely facing Sam. "You know… some things… I realised we haven't talked about them."

"Like?"

"Like…" Dean swallowed. "Like Brady."

Sam froze. _Brady_. Brady had died last year. His story was over… written out, and…

"Look, I know the crap he pulled and I know it was fucked up between you two…"

Sam could feel his muscles tense, as his whole body stiffened. His mind buzzed and he blinked. "Know what?"

Dean sighed. "I know he was your boyfriend, okay? I don't know why you wouldn't tell me, because it's ridiculous if you thought I'd judge, and you know I—"

"That was three years ago," said Sam, interrupting Dean and refusing to be guilt-tripped by his brother. _Dean_ was ridiculous sometimes. "I met Jess the year after we broke up," Sam maintained. "So?"

"I also know what Brady did."

Sam let out a sharp breath. "He did nothing."

"Sammy."

"Please talk about something else."

"You don't need to keep secrets for me, man, I know."

Dean's voice was low and desperate. A maroon sedan approached on the road behind them and Sam pretended to be interested in it as he turned around, watching it speed away. He didn't want this conversation right now.

"Talk to me." Dean's hand closed around Sam's forearm and Sam flinched so violently that his brother held both his hands up in surrender. "Whoa!"

Sam clenched his fists to keep his reactions in control as he fixed his eyes on the lake. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It was a stupid relationship," Sam told Dean. "It's over… _literally_." He paused. "Please change the subject."

"So… so Brady and you…"

"… Have nothing to do with the thing with Jess," Sam clarified, already exhausted by their talk. He didn't want to think about that crap. It had been an atrocity. And Brady… well, honestly, Sam didn't feel so sorry that Brady had died. This was why he'd been pissed at Dean for sympathising with him when he'd lost Brady. But of course, Dean had caught on with that. There was never anything Dean didn't seem to know.

Damn him.

Sam took a deep breath. "Is that why you dragged me to the lake?"

Dean gulped down his beer and shook his head. "No. Been a while since I've pulled your leg without Cas coming to your defence."

" _Dean_!"

"He's too fond of you," Dean said, making a face. "Doesn't let me have my fun."

"Well, you shouldn't be pulling my leg in the first place," Sam told him.

"Oh, grow up, you big kid." Dean leaned over for a noogie, but Sam pushed him off.

"Don't," he said.

Dean rolled his eyes, and stopped. "Fine."

Sam gestured to the guitar. "Why don't you sing something?"

"No."

"Dean…"

"No, Sammy."

"Then why did you bring it?"

Dean pretended to pout as he folded his arms. "I _was_ going to play something, but now you're being a bitch."

"See, now when you say that to me, I don't care," Sam pointed out. "Why would you say that to Cas?"

"Shut up, Dr Phil."

"Dean." Sam wasn't having any of his shit anymore. Dean cast him a wary eye.

"I got angry, okay?" he said. "And you know I don't call anyone else a bitch. There's only one bitch on this planet." Dean smirked at him.

Sam flipped him off. "Jerk."

"So we good now?" asked Dean. "Wanna feel some more feelings?"

"I think you know I just wanted you to be civil to Cas," Sam told him.

"Yeah, Mom, you made that clear with the big telling-off on our trip here," Dean replied. "I apologised to Cas and he's fucked me at least twice since then, so I think he's cool, too."

"Ew."

"Hey, you brought it on."

"Gross."

"Now can we skip this crap and act like grown-ups, Sam?" asked Dean.

"You were the one who wanted to _talk_."

"Yeah, and that time has passed."

"So sing."

"No," Dean said again.

Sam loosened, and decided to bring out the ammunition. Giving Dean a sorry glance, he widened his eyes at his brother. Dean got caught in his puppy-eyed stare dead-on as he melted instantaneously. "Dammit, Sammy," he said, "you're too old for that puppy face of yours."

"Dean, come on," Sam begged. "Do _Hey Jude_."

Their mom used to sing that to them every night before she died in a car crash. Dean had been four then, Sam a mere baby, and Sam had never actually gotten to meet her and hear her voice. But he knew he loved Dean's version of the song best. There would never be a better rendition of it.

Dean moved so they were both sitting against the windshield and strummed the guitar. He started to sing, voice low and slightly shaky in the beginning, but picking up within the first words.

 _"_ _Hey, Jude, don't make it bad_

_Take a sad song and make it better…"_

Sam moved over and rested his head on his brother's shoulder, shutting his eyes, and Dean's hand palmed the side of his head briefly and then tapped at his cheek, a gentle reminder for Sam to not fall asleep there. But Sam had never paid attention to that crap. He just wanted to let go of everything in their lives that seemed to be messed up. Not that Sam was one to feel too much. But Dean definitely helped the process. And whatever it was, Sam knew they were all going to handle it.

**~o~**

**Yankton, South Dakota**

**The next morning**

From what Henriksen could see, Meg Masters was as bad as Crowley. He was getting to interview some real pieces of work this case, and it just made his job more tiring. However, he'd been hot on the heels of the _Creature_ since last year. He wasn't about to give up because some weirdos popped up at this point.

He was still going to grill Dean Winchester and that husband of his on this one, and he was looking forward to that, but for now, Meg, Clif Daniels's stepsister, would have to suffice.

"I told that asshole, you know," Meg said, pulling Henriksen out of his reverie, "to be careful."

"Why did you say that?"

"You know," she said. "Murders."

"Murders which are completely random?"

"Yeah, smartass, if there's a serial killer on the loose, wouldn't you warn your family, too?"

"So you consider him family?"

"Nah. He was a douche."

Henriksen knew that. Meg had filed several cases of abuse and molestation against Daniels and he'd been out on parole just a month ago. Honestly, Henriksen disagreed that this kind of scum ever deserved to be out of prison, but then again, maybe people changed. Maybe.

Okay, he didn't believe that either. Assholes never changed.

He folded his arms. "Describe your relationship with Daniels."

"Horrible," she said. "Why would you care?"

"Because you were the last person to see him alive. What did you talk about the night before he was killed?"

"He wanted money."

"Uh-huh. Did you give him any?"

"Like I would do that," she said. "I told him to fuck off."

"So you fought."

"No. I told him, very calmly, to fuck off." Meg leaned back against her couch. "Look, Agent, I have no regrets that he's dead. I don't care what you do with that information."

It wasn't really weird that she didn't care, though. Daniels was, like she said, a douchebag. Henriksen couldn't completely eliminate suspicion from her, anyway, even though whether she was in Tyngsborough and the other places during the time of the rest of the murders was a question.

"Where were you the night he was murdered?" Henriksen pushed on.

"At the hospital," Meg replied. "I'm a nurse, but you would know that. I was with other nurses who can confirm it."

"And have you ever been to Tyngsborough, Massachusetts?"

She perked up at the question. "Damn, he said you'd ask."

"Who?"

"Crowley, of course," she told him. "We're old pals from a long time ago."

Henriksen felt himself stiffen. They knew each other. "So were you in Tyngsborough or not?"

"I was," she said. "Last week. But I have my alibis. And Crowley told me he sends you kisses. He knew you'd come over to ask questions." She paused looking him over. "And he's right, you know. You _are_ a sweet piece of ass."

**~o~**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

**That afternoon**

"Dean, we're being followed."

Sam's frantic voice got Dean's eyes off the old TV as his brother joined him on the couch, tired and drenched in sweat. Sam had left for a beer run a while ago and this was the last thing Dean had expected to hear now. "Henriksen?" he asked.

"No." Sam clenched his jaw. "It's a maroon car. One of the newer Impalas. I saw it when we were at the lake yesterday."

"Are you sure it's following us?"

"Probably just me," he replied. "But I know what I'm talking about."

"Okay." Dean took a deep breath. _Fuck._ What was this new shit? "Okay," he said, "what do you wanna do? Leave?"

"Shouldn't we tell the police?"

"We're suspects, Sammy," said Dean. "I don't wanna shove us into their faces right now."

"You think leaving will help?" Sam seemed unsure, something that was not normal for him.

Dean was about to reply when his phone rang. The number was unknown when he looked at it, but he took the call anyway.

"Hello?"

 _"_ _Dean Winchester."_

Fuck. That voice. Dean wanted to groan, but he restrained himself. "Look who it is," he said, putting on fake enthusiasm to annoy Henriksen as much as possible, "Special Agent Victor Henriksen."

 _"_ _I hear you're in South Dakota."_

Dean gritted his teeth. "No. No, we're not in South Dakota," he lied, and he could see Sam's eyes widen, as Cas came out from the study.

"What happened?" Cas enquired, confusion littering his face, but Dean put a hand up to quiet him.

 _"_ _Are you sure you're not there?"_ Henriksen asked from the other side _. "Because I'm here right now, at Yankton, and if I find you anywhere in the vicinity…"_

Dean's heart skipped a beat. "Search for us all you want around here, you bastard. I know you're out to get us."

 _"_ _I'm not just out to get you,"_ he said, _"I_ know _it's you and that innocent-looking husband of yours."_

"Oh, you do now, do you," Dean hissed. "I'd like to see you prove it in court."

 _"_ _All in due time, Dean,"_ replied Henriksen, his voice singsong. _"All in due time."_ And then the line went dead, leaving Dean to stare at Sam and Cas with his phone still held up to his ear.

"What did he say?" Sam asked him, breaking the brief silence.

Dean's limbs suddenly sprang into action at his brother's voice, and he was standing up, gathering his phone and the beer bottles on the couch. "We're getting out of here."

"To go where?" Cas came forward, surprised, and Dean didn't have time for drama or explanations.

"Massachusetts, geniuses, pack up!"

"Are you going to tell us why?" Sam was calm, levelled, and Dean rounded on him, annoyed.

"Just grab your shit, Sam," he said, clenching his fist.

"We're not going anywhere until you tell us what happened."

Dean shut his eyes. "Please, Sammy."

"Dean." Sam grasped at his shoulder. "What did Henriksen say? Why did you lie?"

"He's in Yankton," Dean told him. "And he's coming here. You know what that means?"

Sam's nostrils flared. "I told you—"

"He's out to get us!"

"I explained, Dean, I told you yesterday, that he couldn't hurt you with these charges. Didn't you fucking listen to me?!"

"I did, and you're right, but I lied to him just now, okay?" Dean's hands went to grip at his hair. "I'm fucking human and I panicked and lied."

Cas sighed. "Dammit, Dean."

"You don't talk!" Dean snapped at him.

Cas's brows drew together in confusion, and Sam moved over to stand beside Dean. "Hey! Don't blame him."

Dean rounded on his brother. "He was the one who bumbled that day and—"

"I didn't do anything!" Cas was angry now, taking a few steps toward Dean. "Will you stop blaming me?"

"Stop _blaming_ you?! You're the reason why we're here in the first place. Your stupid-ass whining and me trying to fucking make it up."

"I never asked for this," said Cas, his eyes shining with rage. "You were the one who persuaded me."

"Guys…" Sam's voice was a minor disturbance to Dean as he ignored him.

"Yeah," he told Cas, "I had to persuade you. Say and do stupid, sweet things. You know why? Because you need to be wrapped in blankets and cuddled when you're sad or angry, or you remain sad and angry forever."

"So my problems bother you now?"

"Of course they fucking bother me," Dean spat. "I'm the one who has to live with that pissy attitude of yours and put up with it for whole days and then make up and beg and—"

" _Guys_."

Sam hadn't raised his voice, but Dean heard him this time, and he knew that tone. He stopped, unclenching his fists, as he rounded on his brother. " _What_ , Sammy?"

"I'm leaving," Sam said, jaw clenching and unclenching by turn.

"What?!"

"I'm going outside. For another walk. If you two want to stop fighting and talk about what we need to say to Henriksen, call me." Before Dean or Cas could say another word, he was out of the door.

**~o~**

To say that Dean and Cas were idiots was an understatement.

Sam took several deep breaths as he walked on the sunlit rode, getting away from Bobby's house and his warring family. He was tired of this shit. He had spoken to Dean about the Henriksen situation and warned him about fighting with Cas. But Dean wouldn't listen. And when Dean didn't listen…

Sam froze right in the middle of that thought, and in his steps.

Something was wrong. Something was really wrong here.

He could hear an approaching car. He shifted to the side of the road, noticing it out of the corner of his eye. It was the same maroon Impala. He was sure of it now. It was moving at a slow pace and relatively far away, but it was unmistakeable.

His heartbeat sped up. This was the same car that had been tailing him earlier; the same one he'd noticed yesterday at the lake. He'd even mentioned it to Dean, but then Henriksen had called and interrupted them. And then in his anger, Sam had forgotten to talk about it at all.

_Shit._

He fumbled in his pocket for his phone and got to his brother's number. Dean, God bless him, picked up on the first ring.

 _"_ _Sammy, listen, I—"_

"Dean," Sam breathed into the phone, "Dean, I'm outside."

That was all his brother needed to realise something was wrong. _"Okay,"_ he said, _"where? I'm getting to the car… CAS?"_ He called to Cas, off the phone, and Sam heard Cas ask something, but everything quieted in the background, meaning Cas had understood, too.

 _"_ _Sammy, where are you?"_ Dean asked him, worry oozing from his voice.

"Just five minutes away from the house." Sam quickened his pace as the car tailing him picked up speed. "Something's stuck in my shoe," he said desperately. The comforting keen of the Impala's doors shutting did nothing to calm him down.

"Okay," Dean replied, "calm down, Cas and I are coming, I've got Baby." The Impala's engine revved, but the car behind Sam was closing in, getting faster, and…

"Dean, I—"

Sam yelped as something struck his back, sending him flying to the ground. He clutched a patch of dry grass, the pain in his back excruciating, and turned around to look up as the car stopped at the shoulder. A man got out of it.

Sam stared at the face, his jaw dropping. Before he could react further, the other man raised a gun at him and shot, bringing more excruciating pain in Sam's stomach, and with it, another shot, a third one, and finally, darkness.

**~o~**

"SAMMY!"

Cas heard Dean's call to his brother before he saw the scene in front of them. Dean had sped out of Bobby's driveway, bumping into a couple of old cars, phone in one hand, and the next moment when they'd turned to the road outside, Dean was screaming his brother's name.

There was a car a few yards away on the shoulder and two men standing outside, who got back into their own car the moment they saw Impala. Cas's heart skipped a beat when he saw a figure slumped on the ground beside the car.

"Sam," Dean whispered, his tone equal parts menacing and heartbroken. The car before them began to pull away and at the same time Dean stopped, reaching over to open the door on Cas's side.

"Take him to the hospital," he said.

"But Dean…" _We haven't seen Sam, he might be dead._

"He's alive." Dean was angry, in denial, but then again he was amazingly intuitive when it came to Sam, so Cas decided not to argue. "I'm going to get those bastards."

The moment Cas was out of the car, Dean had shut the door and accelerated ahead, leaving Cas to run to his brother-in-law and hope against hope that Sam was still alive. His whole body felt numb as he approached Sam and pulled his phone out to call an ambulance, a morose voice in his head telling him that his family had just been torn apart.

**o**

**-Then-**

Five days after Cas had spoken to Dean for the first time, he discovered that Dean had a tender side to him within the crass, flirtatious exterior. It happened when Cas was waiting in the living room for the professor. He'd been sitting, trying to focus on his notes, but beside him, there was something else going on that he couldn't take his eyes away from. Dean was there with Sam. Cas knew Dean would glare so he refrained from staring.

"I'm all right, Dean," he heard Sam say, tired and exasperated. "Quit babying me."

"No, you're not all right," Dean growled. "Stop telling me that. I'm gonna rip his lungs out."

"Dean" Sam's voice was quiet, in control. Cas glanced at them to see Dean hold an ice pack to a large bruise on Sam's cheek. He was about to look away when Sam's eyes caught his and Dean followed his gaze.

This time, however, Dean didn't try to flirt or smile. He got his brother to stand up. "Come on, Sammy." They disappeared down the hall and it was the first time Cas had seen Dean behave like an adult since he'd met him. He'd felt a pang of loneliness, wishing someone would be like that for him, but he'd been estranged from his family ever since they'd found out he was gay.

After this incident, Cas had never lost his respect for how much Dean could care for his brother, even with that rough exterior of his. He learned never to be surprised by Dean Winchester's dedication to his family.


	6. The Creature

**Five: The Creature**

Cas ran after the gurney, watching the ER doors burst open as the paramedics rushed Sam in. They shouted things in medical jargon, but all Cas could make sense of was _blood loss_ and _bullet wound to the abdomen_ and _shock._ He'd tried calling Dean, but Dean wouldn't pick up, so his mind was spinning from it all. Everything seemed to be sliding in and out of focus, blurring together in a medley of images and voices and for a few minutes, Cas didn't even know that he was being spoken to until a voice called to him.

"Mr. Winchester?"

He blinked. Standing before him was a young doctor with a file in her hand. "Do you need to sit?" she asked him.

"No," he said, and swallowed. "Sam…"

"We have to get him to surgery. He has an injury to his spleen which is bleeding and has to be repaired. We need permission to go ahead. Are you a relative?"

"I'm his brother-in-law," replied Cas. "So yes, I am, technically his closest relative you can find right now." He took the pen from her and scanned the page before signing at the bottom. "How long will this take?"

She fumbled with her pad, looking tense. "I'll – I'll let you know."

Cas watched her walk away and dialled Dean again, receiving no reply. He knew Dean was driving. He knew what was likely to happen and he hoped Dean would just be a little calm about it for now.

As he took a seat in the waiting area he put his head in his hands, praying and praying and just praying on.

**~o~**

Dean stopped following Sam's attackers after a while. They could see him, they'd know he was after them and he realised he could track them more effectively without riding after them. He stared at his phone. He wanted to call Cas, wanted to know how Sam was doing, but he wasn't going to do that, wasn't going to stop until he found those assholes. Only then he'd call back. And, and if Sam were dead…

No. Sam was not dead. He could feel it. Sam was far from dead.

Convincing himself of this over and over again, Dean pulled over at a gas station to fill up the tank and buy some food. He needed to be equipped if those assholes were escaping to somewhere else. He didn't want to waste a single moment. They were heading towards Yankton right now, and Dean realised with a jolt that they probably had something to do with the murder there.

When his tank was full, he drove a little more and eventually pulled over on a shoulder to open the OnStar website on his phone. Those bastards probably thought they were going to mock him by attacking his brother while driving a fucking Impala. They should have known that Dean could beat their asses when it came to this car. Yeah, he'd find a good spot nearby, park the Impala, and keep an eye on them.

They were going to pay.

**~o~**

Henriksen found Dean Winchester at a gas station while he was on his way into Sioux Falls. Winchester was at the counter buying a bag of chips, and Henriksen watched him as he spoke to the cashier and then exited, seating himself in that car of his before driving off the way Henriksen had come in. He watched Dean just for a few seconds before scrambling back into his own car.

The bastard had lied about being in Sioux Falls, and now he was going towards Yankton? Henriksen was going to put an end to his antics.

He was, however, surprised that the husband wasn't involved in this. Seemed like he was either oblivious or an accomplice or an accessory; either way, Dean Winchester's luck had finally run out, and Henriksen couldn't be happier about it.

**~o~**

Cas was on his third cup of coffee, had given up trying to call Dean, and had already finished an interview with the police when Sam was brought out of surgery. A nurse patted him on the shoulder, looking pleased. "He's fine," she said. "We're keeping him in recovery for a bit so we can see how he's taking it."

"When can I see him?"

"You can grab yourself something from the cafeteria if you want," she said, as though that was a definite unit of time. "You should be able to see him when you're back."

"Thank you." Cas got up and dialled Dean's phone again, only to get no response. He sighed, then texted Dean to update him about Sam.

"Dammit, Dean," he muttered as he sent it. "What on earth are you doing?"

He could feel a headache building up, a manifestation of all his anxieties and worries, and he clenched his fists, hoping Dean wasn't doing something stupid right now, even if that was a wasteful thing to hope for, because Cas knew exactly what Dean was about to do. And, at this moment, he wasn't so fond of it.

**~o~**

Cas had tried to call many times, but Dean hadn't picked up because he didn't want to hear the words ( _Sam was dead Sam was dead…_ no). Didn't want to ever experience them being uttered. He knew he was worrying Cas, but he'd apologise plenty when he completed the task at hand; and complete this task he would.

When Cas finally gave up trying to call and just sent a text, Dean felt relieved, glad to know that he'd been right. Sam was alive and fucking kicking.

He watched from his spot in the Impala on the side of the road that his target had moved on ahead. They seemed to be making their way out of the state. Dean resumed his journey, not wanting to reach them too late. He'd given them an hour's lead and that was good enough. He realised this was a good idea later on when after what seemed like an eternity of driving and following them, they stopped for the night.

Once he had reached the area Dean got a room in a motel close the one where Sam's attackers seemed to be. Dean had not paid much attention to the scenery except for crossing the state border but he knew he was in Wyoming. His neck and shoulders ached from six straight hours of driving. It didn't matter all that much only because of the thought of revenge burning in the pit of his stomach. He knew it could keep him fuelled forever, too.

He was pretty sure they didn't know he had tailed them all the way here; they wouldn't have stopped if they knew, so Dean was confident he had them. If, somehow, his opponents _did_ know of his presence and were going to be vigilant or had booby trapped their accommodations to take Dean by surprise, he was prepared to face that, too. He never went into battle without ammunition.

 _Henriksen_ , though. Dean sighed. That idiot thought he was being discreet, following Dean all the way from that gas station. He really wasn't that secretive about what he was doing, but right now, Dean couldn't care less about him. He knew Henriksen would come in screaming because Dean had lied about being in Sioux Falls.

Anyway, the agent seemed to have opted for the other motel in the area, probably to make sure Dean didn't see him after that shitty tailing job he did, so Dean was glad for his privacy.

He'd taken a room that was further from the view of the rest of the motel. He parked the Impala outside before unlocking the door and looked around as he opened the trunk of his car. The bottom had always been false, and Dean pulled it up, propping it up with supports as he surveyed the arsenal he had in there. He needed firearms this time, because those people had guns, too. He shoved a small knife into his pocket, just in case, and reached for his beloved Beretta and his sawed-off, staring longingly at his machetes as he shut the trunk. Then he took them into his motel room and waited for night to fall. It was time to avenge Sam and have some fun in the process.

**~o~**

Sam woke up briefly sometime around midnight, high on pain medication and incoherent. Cas was with him in the room, dozing on the uncomfortable chair when it happened. The beeps of the heart monitor changed rhythm suddenly, speeding up a little, and Cas's eyes flew open.

Sam was staring at him, pale as paper, eyes glassy and lips cracked. Cas was immediately on his feet next to Sam. "Hey, Sam," he said, raising a hand to place it on his forehead as Dean would, but unsure if he should actually do it. Twelve years of knowing Sam and approval from him that Cas was like a big brother to him, and yet, there were some things entirely personal between Sam and Dean that Cas didn't want to interfere with.

Sam swallowed, looking like it was the most painful thing for him to do. "D-Dean…"

"He's…" Cas licked his lips, "he'll be back. Why don't you sleep?"

"D'n."

Cas sighed, shoving away his internal battles as he finally palmed Sam's forehead. "Sleep," he said. "It's going to be okay."

Sam's trusting eyes locked with his just once before they fluttered shut, and Cas felt like he'd betrayed the only person he'd ever considered and loved as a little brother. He walked back to his seat with that thought pricking him and hoped once again that Dean hadn't done anything stupid.

**~o~**

Dean had to be stealthy getting to the right motel room to carry out his plan. It was a little past midnight, the perfect time to go ahead with it. He'd parked his car close by and he'd had to look around to make sure Henriksen wasn't watching him. He'd already checked out of his room, too. He had just needed it for a warm shower and some relaxation before he ate and prepared his moves and he didn't want anything to hinder his escape, lest Henriksen's team caught him somehow.

The lights were off inside of the room, indicating that these people didn't actually know that they'd been followed. Dean pressed his back against the wall outside and took a deep breath, reaching for his sawed-off that he'd somehow hidden inside his jacket, even though it was uncomfortable as fuck. He shut his eyes. This was it. This was the moment, and then there had to be a good escape, and—

"Not so fast, Winchester."

Dean opened his eyes to come face-to-face with Henriksen's gun. Okay, so slight mistake in calculation; Henriksen was definitely watching, but Dean didn't care. "Dude," he said, "just go back to your room and pretend you didn't actually do a shitty tailing job. This has got nothing to do with you."

Henriksen's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Having an orgy with some old friends," Dean grinned. "What does it look like? All approved by Cas, by the way, but it's not his thing, so—"

"Shut up." Henriksen pressed the gun to Dean's forehead. "You're under arrest."

"For?"

"Killing Clif Daniels."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Didn't do it, pal."

"Yeah?" Henriksen cocked his gun. "Well, _pal_ , we'll see that in court, won't we?" He drew out handcuffs with his free hand. "Give me your weapons. I know you have them. And come quietly."

Dean eyed the handcuffs and smirked. "Kinky. But I don't come quietly. Cas could tell you that and—"

"Shut up!"

"Sorry." Dean raised his hands in surrender to the cuffs, readying himself for that second when the gun to his forehead shifted, about to dissociate from him.

Dean didn't wait another opportunity to knee Henriksen, grunting and pushing him away.

Henriksen's hand flew skyward and the gun went off, causing a chain reaction around them. Lights began to switch on, screams punctuating the air.

Dean drew out his sawed-off as the door behind him opened, revealing Sam's attackers. He knew at once that he'd seen them before, but didn't wait to empty shell after shell into them, blood spraying onto him, and when a bullet hit his thigh, a pair of arms gripping him from behind, Dean turned around and jammed the butt of his shotgun against Henriksen's head.

People were coming out of their rooms and the manager was there, but Dean took off, not waiting to see what was going on. He needed to get out. He needed to leave here before they called the police.

He gritted his teeth against the pain in his thigh, controlling the rising nausea as he staggered to his car. The Impala accelerated like he wanted her to and all Dean could think about as he fled from the scene and the town was that he'd messed up. Sam's attackers were dead, but Dean had fucked up big time. Too big.

**~o~**

When Henriksen came to, he was in his motel room on his bed. He didn't have trouble remembering what had just transpired; he just hoped it hadn't been long since it happened because…

He checked his watch. It was almost one in the morning.

 _Fuck._ That bastard Dean Winchester was just as shady as Henriksen had suspected, and now he'd let him escape? Fabulous. Swearing once more, Henriksen hurried out of his room, only to be met with a full-fledged crime scene investigation. There was yellow tape outside of the motel room where the murders had taken place, detectives bent over the bodies, and Henriksen made his way to another detective who was interviewing a guest.

Henriksen dug out his ID and flashed it at the man, who dismissed the guest and nodded. "Saw that. You doing okay? You took quite a hit to your head there."

Henriksen gritted his teeth through the sudden pounding in his head that made itself evident. "I'm good. Where did he go?"

The other man pointed at a road to his right. "That way. But there's a crossroads a few miles away so we can't tell for sure which way he's headed. I've alerted all the nearby PDs…"

"You get his plate?"

"Some of it. He was long gone before we could chase him, so it's mostly just civilian knowledge. I put an APB on it."

"His name is Winchester," Henriksen supplied. "I have a file photograph somewhere. Or you can get it off the Internet. His husband's moderately famous."

"Should I alert the press?"

"Don't tell them who it is yet. We've been after him at the bureau a while now. I'll call them when I need to."

"Was he a suspect?"

Henriksen nodded. "The _Creature_. No longer just a suspect, though. I'm sure it's him."

"The folks he killed were packing, too."

Henriksen raised an eyebrow. "Licensed?"

"Yeah."

Henriksen pressed his lips together. "Must be some local thugs who they fought with. You get the ID?"

"Elias and Thomas Brady."

"Okay. I'll ask the bureau for a background check. Thanks."

"But… you say this is the work of the Creature?" The detective looked confused. "He _shot_ the folks here. Ain't he supposed to butcher them?"

"He didn't have time. I almost had him. Dammit." Henriksen stomped the ground with frustration when he felt his phone vibrating. He took it when he saw it was Belle.

 _"_ _Where are you?"_ she asked him the second he picked up. _"I thought you'd call from Sioux Falls—"_

"There's been two more murders," Henriksen told her, breathing deeply to control his irritation at Dean's escape. "I'm in Gillette. Wyoming."

 _"_ _Wyoming?!"_

"It's Dean Winchester, just like I told you it was. He's our perp."

 _"_ _You caught him?"_

"No."

 _"_ _Then where is he?"_

"I don't know. He attacked me and booked. I was knocked out."

 _"_ _God, are you okay?"_

"Yeah." Henriksen took a deep breath through his anger when he remembered the time again. "Why'd you call this late, anyway?"

 _"_ _I wanted information,"_ she said, _"but you aren't over there, so…"_

"Where?"

 _"_ _Sioux Falls."_

"Our culprit isn't in Sioux Falls anymore," he said.

 _"_ _No, but his brother is, and if he hasn't run away yet, so is his husband."_

Henriksen straightened. "They're still at Sioux Falls?"

 _"_ _Specifically Sioux Falls General Hospital. His brother got shot last afternoon."_

"Afternoon?! Why am I just hearing about this now?"

 _"_ _Hey!"_ Belle protested, annoyed. _"I thought you'd gotten there hours ago. When I didn't hear news from you, I alerted the local cops to look for the Winchesters and that's when they told me about it. The husband says he didn't see the attacker."_

Henriksen shook his head. "Bullshit."

 _"_ _I know. But there's a story here. We need to look into it."_

"Yeah. How soon can I get there?"

 _"_ _First flight I can find is eight a.m."_

"I can drive by then."

 _"_ _It's your choice,"_ she said. _"You've taken a blow to the head, so maybe—"_

"I'm driving," he insisted, rushing back to his room. "Castiel Winchester is important, and I need to get there before he's gone. How critical is Sam Winchester?"

 _"_ _He's had surgery."_

"Let's hope the bastards haven't left."

 _"_ _I'll check with the hospital and get back to you."_

"Okay. Sure." Henriksen cut the call without a goodbye and started to gather his things, checking his gun and pocketing Winchester's photo so he could get it broadcast if he felt he needed to. Just as he'd hefted his bag onto his shoulders, Belle called again.

"Tell me it's good news," he muttered into the phone.

 _"_ _They're still there."_

"I'm out of here. Ask the cops to get a couple of officers to patrol the entrances. No approaching the suspects because I don't want either Winchester knowing that we're onto them. On the off chance that they don't know what's up with their beloved Dean, I don't want them alarmed and trying to escape. I asked the detective here to not talk to the press about who he is and I think I'm gonna have the news channels and press know as soon as I get his family. Did you get what I asked you to do?"

 _"_ _You know, I do know all of that. You don't have to give me so many instructions. I'm flying to South Dakota first thing. SAC said you're not doing this alone anymore."_

"Good." He grinned for the first time that day. "You're a good partner, Vargas. I'm just stressed today. Believe me, I don't want to order you around."

He heard the slight smile in her voice. _"You got that right, Henriksen."_

**~o~**

Cas's phone rang in the middle of his restless snooze, making him rush outside the hospital room so as to not disturb Sam. Cursing himself over not having silenced his phone, he took the call. "Where are you?!" he demanded of his husband.

 _"_ _Is Sammy okay?"_

"He had to have surgery, but he's stable now. Where are you?"

 _"_ _I can't talk for long. You need to stay put. Keep Sam with you and take care of him. You get me?"_ Dean sounded urgent and tired.

Cas froze. "What did you do?"

 _"_ _Cas—"_

"What did you _do_ , Dean?" Cas asked him slowly, making sure no one was listening.

There was a sigh. _"I killed them."_

"Dammit, Dean." Cas gritted his teeth. "Why do you not pay attention when I tell you to not take impulsive decisions?"

 _"_ _I had to."_

Cas took in a short breath. "Of course you did. You always _have_ to justify your idiotic actions. Did you hide the bodies?"

 _"_ _No, I… Henriksen saw me."_

" _What_?" Cas's eyes widened, even though Dean couldn't see him. He paused. "Did you kill Henriksen, too?"

Dean took a moment to answer that. _"No."_

Cas could feel the growing anger in him as he found an empty stairwell. "I knew you were stupid, Dean," he said, voice rising, "but _this_ stupid?!"

 _"_ _Cas, please, I don't have time. Just… just stay there, okay? Tell them you have no idea what I've done. You always thought I was innocent."_

Cas was tired of playing innocent and clueless, but he leaned against a wall and nodded. "They won't believe me, but all right. Have they got you on the news?"

 _"_ _No idea. Probably."_

"Great."

 _"_ _Don't be pissed."_

"What do you want me to say, Dean?"

 _"_ _I… I need to go."_ Cas heard an audible swallow. _"I'm destroying this phone. Heading to Rufus's. Don't contact me unless I talk first."_

"Okay."

 _"_ _Cas…"_ Dean trailed away, and Cas knew what he wanted to say. The anger drained out of him at once.

"I love you, too," he said. "Be careful."

 _"_ _Yeah, you, too."_

The call was cut and Cas pocketed his phone with a nagging ache in his heart and determination to get Dean out of this. He returned to Sam's room, his nerves working against him. Dean had no alibis, none they could even make up. Henriksen was a witness, and probably heading this way as Cas just sat there, watching over his brother-in-law.

He turned to Sam. Sam, who didn't know a thing about what had just happened, who was hurt and needed care and to see his brother, and if things went the way they were going now, Cas knew for sure that neither of them would ever see Dean again.

He sat there, thinking, planning, and setting up conversations in his head. He went through more coffees, sneaking peeks at the waiting room TV, but couldn't get himself to ask them to change the channel to the news. He didn't want the hospital realising he was Dean's family and calling the police on them. Henriksen was enough.

He waited, counting each minute as it passed while attending to Sam and talking to the nurses and staying extremely alert until, sometime after breakfast, there was a knock at the door. It could be a doctor, but Cas knew exactly who it was when he went to open it. So he wasn't at all surprised to see Henriksen there, sporting a painful-looking lump on the side of his head, but still smiling.

"I need to speak to you, Mr. Winchester," he said, and Cas was reminded of a cat finding a mouse.

He swallowed. "I don't understand."

"Oh, you will," said Henriksen. "If you'd just follow me, please. And leave your phone behind. No fiddling with it or contacting your husband while we talk."

Cas nodded reluctantly, put his phone on Sam's bedside table, and followed Henriksen out, heart pounding. Henriksen led him out past a couple of nurses, and into an empty room in a corridor shut off for renovation.

Cas clasped his hands together as he entered, eyes scanning the room, but Henriksen sat in a chair and gestured to another. "Sit."

"What do you—?"

"Just do as I say." Cas sat down, folding his arms and watching Henriksen smile. He just needed to get through this. He just needed to stick to the plan. That was it. It was going to be fine.

"So," Henriksen spoke, interrupting his thoughts, "where's Dean?"

"I… what are you talking about?"

"Sam got shot," replied Henriksen, "and we all know that. Did you see who shot him?"

"No."

"Okay." Henriksen reached for his phone and pressed a few buttons before shoving it under Cas's nose. "Recognise them?"

Cas found himself staring at a picture of two dead people, faces streaked with blood. The same people, he assumed, who'd shot Sam, and his heart skipped a beat as he realised who they were. He'd seen them last at Sam's friend's funeral. Tyson Brady's funeral. He looked up at Henriksen. "I don't know them, and please put these gory pictures away."

"Uh-huh, and it took you so long to _not_ recognise them?" Henriksen narrowed his eyes. "As for the gory pictures, you put up a good act, you know, but I'm not buying it. Random people don't just shoot upstanding citizens out of nowhere."

"I – I told you…"

"Answer me. _Now_!" Henriksen's voice raised several notches as he stood up, making Cas flinch. "Where is Dean Winchester?"

"I don't know."

"Okay." Henriksen walked around to Cas, bending over him from the back. "Let's try this again. We all know that if I send your phone to the office we'll retrieve the record of that call you made to Dean—or vice versa—somewhere after the murder and before I came in. You deleted the record, of course, but we can work around that."

Cas gritted his teeth. "Take it, then. Take my phone."

"Oh, we're definitely going to do that," Henriksen told him, lowering his voice so that Cas shivered. "Had a great time showing me down with your intelligent lawyer brother-in-law, didn't you? Now, unless you tell me where Dean is, I'm throwing both you and Sam in prison."

"You can't do that."

"Can't I? I saw your brother kill those people, Winchester. _Saw_ him. He's the culprit. Not even a suspect anymore. I have enough reason to believe you're at least an accomplice, if not more."

"Prove it," Cas spat at him.

"You bet. And when I do that, you're going to prison."

"You can't take Sam, he needs medical attention."

"They have that in prison, too, don't worry," said Henriksen. Cas watched him return to his seat, hands shaking as he clenched his fists. "So," he said, "you can confess right now and we can settle a plea bargain, maybe, talk to a lawyer, and—"

Cas let out a breath, his blood boiling. "Leave us alone."

Henriksen stopped in the middle of his talk. "What?"

"Leave. Us. Alone."

"Yeah, not happening, Winchester, I—" He didn't get to finish his sentence as Cas got up and punched him in the mouth.

Henriksen staggered back, blood bubbling from his lips, and Cas punched him again, catching him before he fell back. He turned Henriksen around and slapped a hand over his bloody mouth so he wouldn't be able to speak. Then Cas pressed his chest against Henriksen's back, his other arm wrapped around him to prevent him from escaping.

"I tried to be innocent and good," he whispered in the agent's ear, easily holding up against the man's struggles. "Those novels were fun, but I was honest with them. And, like Dean said, I really _did_ try my best to stay good for you, too. But I don't think I can let you ruin my family anymore. And you can't ask me again, so, yes. We killed them all. Well, most of them. The last two weren't ours. We've been doing this for years. More than ten years. We buried the bodies. Burned the hearts.

"You know, the heart being outside the body means death. Dean started taking them after we found Bobby's killers. We like that tradition and sometimes we change it a little, like actually taking those hearts home—but that's not a concern for you, I think."

Henriksen squirmed, eyes enraged, elbows trying to hit Cas's abdomen. Cas just chuckled. "That's of no use. I am stronger than you think; I just look dwarfed by Dean's height sometimes. And it's amazing, you know, taking life. To watch them struggle, and they're such _horrible_ people. You're not a horrible person, Agent, so I'm sorry I have to do this to you. It was fun until you came investigating. We decided on New Year's about two years ago that we wouldn't be hiding the bodies anymore because we knew you wouldn't find us. But God," he shook his head, "the Bradys really, as Dean would say, _screwed us over_. And you, too. I want you to remember that. You would be alive if it weren't for the Bradys' interference."

His hand slid down to Henriksen's chin, the other going to the side of the agent's head, and before the man could so much as move, Cas had snapped his neck. The satisfying crack brought a smile to his face and he stood back, letting Henriksen's limp body fall to the floor, then going to the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands.

He knew he was going to get into trouble for this, but this also meant that he could be with Dean now, and honestly, that was all that Cas needed. Plus, Henriksen had signed his own death warrant the minute he'd started breathing down Dean and Cas's necks about the murders. He should have seen this coming.

Now all Cas needed to do was dispose of Henriksen so nobody could find him, and escape this place with Sam to get to Dean.

**o**

**-Then-**

One of the reasons Dean didn't trust the professor was that he'd heard a rumour about him. Many of the students who'd visited him claimed that the professor's tutoring services didn't come for free. That he _did_ ask for payment. Just… not in the form of money.

Now, if there was a reason Dean didn't believe that, it was that the prof just seemed too wimpy to ask people to fuck him like that. But then again, no one ever actually did anything for free, and Dean had learned long ago not to judge people from appearance. Plus, many students stopped getting tutored after a few days, and unless the prof was horrible at teaching, Dean had to wonder if the rumour was true.

Honestly, as long as the professor and the students agreed to it, Dean didn't even give a fuck about that. He'd never cared to judge; his dad had judged him too much, judged Sam too much, and berated both of them more than he should have, and that was the main reason why Dean had killed him. He'd been sixteen; Sammy twelve, watching quietly as Dean carved into the bastard, enjoying himself as he listened to the screams. John had come home reeking of whiskey again and Dean had actually wanted him stone cold sober for this, but he'd been planning this too long to push it off for another day.

Sam was just sitting there in their basement, wearing his too-small pyjamas and rubbing his sleepy eyes while Dean made each cut on their dad. "This is for beating you up," he said to Sam amidst John's weak pleads and screams, but Sam didn't respond. "Remember that day?" Dean pushed him.

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean," Sam had replied quietly.

"Well, he can't control us anymore." Dean grinned, turning to his brother briefly. "We're the ones who get to make him suffer."

Sam had just nodded at that without smiling. He watched Dean kill his father and huddled against him when they sat on the Impala's hood, watching everything burn before them. The fire had been just to make sure John died, and it looked to everyone like the house had caught fire, and no one found any flesh on John's recovered body to know how he'd really been killed. Later, when the police and CPS talked to them, Dean realised Sam's tears were real, and he'd apologised. Sam had grabbed his wrist and when Dean bent over, whispered in his ear, "You never need to say sorry to me."

After that, they'd been running away from worse foster parents, making Dean wonder if he should have let John live. He'd enjoyed slicing up his father, though, so he had no regrets about that. It had been a great exercise; a great start, and so, when the professor finally lost his temper one day and hit Sam (for wetting the bed no less, and okay, Sammy was grown but sometimes he had issues and these were their fucking so-called parents, even if they were foster parents, who gave them that name?). Sam getting hit meant that Dean had to do it again.

If it had been a one-time thing, Dean would have let the professor go after punching his face to a pulp—which Sam disapproved of, God knew why. He insisted they were leaving, getting free of this, so it would be best if they just left quietly and comfortably (comfortably? Sammy never slept well after that day, just to be sure he didn't wet the damned bed again). However, when the professor hit Sam another time when Sam accidentally slept well one night ("Dean, you're not punching him, it's my fault okay?"), and then was found in Sam's room one night, tugging at the kid's jeans when—thank fuck—Dean had just gone to randomly check in on his brother, it was over. Dean knew his moment had come again. He'd finally punched the professor that night, and Sam had woken up, confused.

"How dare you!" Dean had snarled, hitting the bastard again. "Get away from my brother." He blocked a hit from the professor, punched him again. "GO!"

The man leered. "You're only here because I want you here, you rat," he said. "No one cares what you think."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Leave, or you're gonna regret it. Your wife has no clue, does she? Sam's not one of your students. He hasn't agreed to this, and even if he had, he's a kid. _Don't you lay a finger on my brother_ , get me?"

The professor rolled his eyes. "Tell me whatever you want, but this is your profession once you're back on the streets. I'm just giving him practice. I know all of you dirty street rats—"

Dean had never misjudged an innocent-looking wimp more. He clenched his fists. "Even if that was my job," he said, taking a step forward, "It's honest and I'll get money for something someone actually agreed upon. You're a fucking paedo. So just go." He'd raised his fist again, and the professor left the room.

Right after, Dean had gone to Sam's dresser to find his stuff. "Come on, we gotta go."

"No, Dean. Not until we finish school."

"Sammy."

"No."

That was the end of that conversation. Sam refused to budge, or let Dean budge, until graduation, because apparently education was more important than getting rid of an abusive, rapist bastard. Sam didn't want to go to CPS or the police or fucking do anything and Dean just stayed short of yelling at his kid brother because it had been a bad night. There was never a thing Dean didn't do for Sam and he wished his brother would stop digging his heels into the ground like this. However, Dean waited. He shared his room with Sam and kept an eye on the professor and let time go by.

He waited and waited for his graduation and then on that precise day found another reason to kill that sad, old, smelly bastard. It came in the form of Cas. Cas, whom he was going crazy for by then. Which was strange because he rarely cared about much outside of Sam and Bobby. He had no idea where this blue-eyed dude had entered his thoughts and conscience from, but it had happened.

Dean's graduation day made him ecstatic. He was leaving the house and he wasn't leaving just like that. He was going to take his and Sam's dignity with him, and the professor would finally know who he'd messed with. One evening of fun before he took Sam to Bobby's and they lived like a normal-ass, awesome family. He threw that stupid black cap up like all the other assholes in his class, got hugged by Sammy, and didn't accept a hug from the smiling professor.

Everything went great that day. Dean didn't care about the shit around him, didn't care about their loud-mouthed neighbour talking about his dead cat and criticising Sam and Dean about being brats, insisting they'd killed it. Really, Dean didn't give a shit until Cas came by in the evening looking pale and unsure. He'd felt his heart drop into his stomach then, when he realised this was probably the last time he would be seeing Cas.

So of course Dean winked at him, and—surprise, surprise—Cas didn't respond. He remembered Cas wouldn't really have a tutor starting today and, well, it was sad, but no one laid a hand on Sammy and got away with it. He'd be showing that professor who was boss and there was no need to feel guilty. Hell, he could already imagine making him beg and scream, it was like climbing a roller coaster, and no amount of real roller coasters equalled the thrill that came with this.

One last moment to declare his control. One last opportunity to show who had the reins. One last time to watch, admire the fear and hope in someone's eyes, which existed only because their life was entirely in your hands. Teasing them. Pretending to spare them. And then. Taking away all of it, and watching the horror unfold.

Dean ran a hand over the gooseflesh on his arms and tried not to smile.

However, things didn't go as planned for him.

It was late that evening, near dinnertime, when Dean heard the screams. Mrs Banks was out visiting her mother. Glad that she was out, Dean had finished packing, and came down to the living room when he heard those screams, but they weren't coming from the study. Horrified when he recognised the voice, he plucked a knife to follow the sounds, which he now realised were coming from the basement. Sam was by his side, and Dean squeezed his neck. "You should stay here, Sammy."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Be careful." He seated himself on one of the sofas, clasping his hands together and touching his forehead to them as though he were praying. Dean nodded at him and headed to the basement, still listening to the voices.

 _"_ _You're mine, bitch, stay still."_

Pleads. Protests. Dean's heart skipped a beat. _Cas_.

 _"_ _I said don't move, bitch!"_

"HEY!"

Dean burst in, knife in hand, only to see Cas pushed against a wall, pants and boxers bunched around his ankles while the professor clutched his hair. And seeing them like that, watching this scene, Dean froze for a moment.

"You want to join in?" the professor leered. "You and that little brother of yours? I know you like boys, Dean, don't be shy."

The hiss of his words made Dean fling forward, landing his fist on the professor's face. "Don't you dare," he said. He caught the man's shoulders and kicked him, dropping him to the floor before pinning him down with one knee. He punched the man again. "Don't you dare lay a hand on anyone again."

The man turned aside and spat blood. "And are you going to be around to protect them all?"

From the corner of his eye, Dean could see that Cas had slid down the wall, still half-naked, face in his hands. Dean could hear his hitched breathing, could see the shake of his shoulders. He gritted his teeth.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm always going to be around to take care of douchebags like you." He plunged his knife right into the man's abdomen and revelled in the screaming that ensued.

**||END OF BOOK ONE||**


	7. The Runaway

**BOOK TWO**

**Six: The Runaway**

Cas had to lock Henriksen's body in the bathroom and hurry. He had an idea about how he could get rid of Henriksen for good, but didn't have time to stall or to think. He mostly had to make this up as he went. If someone found Henriksen dead in that room, Cas was done for. He needed to act fast. Thankfully, renovation meant deserted corridor, so Cas had that going on for him. Unless the workers arrived and messed it up, of course.

He folded his arms, peeked out of the room, and slipped out, looking for directions and finally locating the OR complex as pointed to on a couple of signs. It was on the floor above and once he'd cast another glance at the empty room where he'd put Henriksen, Cas rushed to the stairs. Outside of his destination at one of the nurses' stations was a sole sleeping nurse, and Cas stood leaning against the table for a few minutes, casually watching people pass by and making sure no one noticed him stealing her ID card.

This turned out to be a good idea, for he needed the card to get himself scrubs. He traded in his shoes for the spare OR crocs on a shelf and made his way to the locker room. It was messy and full of chatter in there. Cas slipped out of his clothes, swapping them for the scrubs as soon as he could and grabbed a disposable cap and mask to further disguise himself. A couple of eyes moved towards his small, secluded corner, but it seemed to be too busy a morning at the OR for anyone to care.

Cas stuffed his clothes into a corner and exited the locker room. He took out the ID to enter the main complex again, bracing himself. He needed to use his wits to the fullest in there because stealing instruments was _not_ going to be easy. But he was going to make sure it got done. When the doors finally opened to let him enter the main complex, though, he stood short.

It was a whole different world inside. _Chaos_. There were doctors, nurses, techs, and orderlies bustling about to get to patients. Stretchers were being wheeled into ORs and doctors grouped together in spots, talking and comparing cases, with nurses and techs checking off lists and instruments. Cas had to hold his breath for a moment. He'd never quite grasped on to too much of whatever he'd read about medical science, but he had never imagined an OR would quite be this way.

Okay. Now that he'd seen it, there was just one thing he needed to locate—the supplies room for his instruments. He knew he needed anything that could be used in an amputation and once he found the supplies, he wouldn't have a problem. He started walking in a non-specific direction, hoping to find luck soon and not attract attention. However, this proved difficult since he did not have an ID clipped to his scrubs, and he kept bumping into people who obviously didn't know him, but apparently expected to. The environment did not do so well with strangers unless previously informed, it seemed.

"I'm an intern," Cas told a suspicious doctor, hoping the man wouldn't check with someone else. "This is my first day." He got a narrow-eyed stare and no answer to that. However, the head nurse didn't buy his story. She was short, African-American, sporting a hot pink cap and every bit of her bled authority. Her nametag told him she was called _Irene Ellison._

"So, where's your ID?" she asked him, noticing his bare scrubs.

"I lost it," he said, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see if he could locate any utility rooms. They all just seemed like yet another OR with another surgery and time was running out. He couldn't talk to this woman forever.

"Name?" She wasn't about to let him go so easy.

"Steve Willis," Cas told her.

"How are you getting around? Come meet me in—"

Cas didn't have time for this. "I'm sorry," he interrupted her, "I need to go—there's a surgery…" He took off in the opposite direction, trying to ignore her glare as he rushed. He honestly had no idea what he was doing and this was a horrible plan and that nurse suspected him. She was going to call security or catch him later.

He turned around once and she was gone, but he was still increasingly uncomfortable and—

"Hey, Jim, I got you the cart for your – _holy shit!"_

Cas bumped into someone, producing a loud clattering and he started. "Sorry," he said, "I'm sorry."

He turned around and found himself facing another man in scrubs, whose nametag read Phil. "Watch where you're going, pal," said Phil, mildly annoyed, and Cas noticed that several cloth-wrapped boxes had fallen to the floor. They had labels on them.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, bending over the pick up the boxes. Most of it was in acronyms he couldn't understand; _TKR, LSCS, BKA_ , _ITR_ , _CABG_ , and he put them back, looking for something, _anything_ named amputation. Did it have to be specifically today that this hospital had no amputations? He supposed he could ask Phil about the utilities closet or wherever they put their instruments, but he didn't want to arouse more suspicion.

When Cas had helped with the last box, Phil gave him a mild smile, picking up a few of them. "You the new scrub tech?"

"Yes."

"Ah. I thought you were coming in next month. Where's your ID?"

"It's being processed."

"Really? They didn't give you one yet?" Phil stood back, face scrunching in confusion. "Who're you scrubbing for?"

"Dr. Owen," Cas replied, remembering the name of Sam's surgeon.

"So _you're_ doing the Whipple? Dang. I didn't see the whole chart. What's your name?"

"Ca- _Steve_ ," Cas replied, almost biting his tongue for giving out his actual name. He was not in his element today. He never should have killed Henriksen and he never should have gotten himself into this OR. "Steve Willis," he said.

"Cool. I'm in for a craniotomy now. Kinda wish I was doing the BKA, you know."

Cas was starting to feel even more uncomfortable as he looked for ways to get out of this conversation. He knew the fake name spelled trouble. Phil would know he wasn't supposed to be here the moment he took a look at whatever chart he was talking about. His lack of reply, however, gave Phil other ideas.

"What did you call them in the hospital you were working at before this one?"

Cas blinked. "What?"

"BKA. Below Knee Amputations?"

Cas's ears snapped up at that, eyes immediately going down to the box labelled BKA. He swallowed. "Just… amputations."

"No surprise you were staring like that, then," said Phil, chuckling. "Anyway, I'll see you around, I gotta hand these in." He turned around and walked into the nearest OR, doors swinging shut behind him, and the moment he left, Cas knew it was now or never. He picked up the BKA box, inhaling sharply at the box's weight, and before anyone else could come his way, he trotted into the empty scrub room attached to the nearest OR.

There was a surgery in progress inside, but everyone seemed to be concentrated on the patient. Cas found a box of gloves on a shelf, snapped them on and pocketed two more as he got to work unwrapping the instruments.

The first things that caught his eyes were a saw and a narrow knife. He took them out and after a moment of thought, a couple of what looked like pliers. He shut the box and shoved it underneath an empty cart; then covered his things in the surgical drapes and threw his gloves away. He didn't want anyone wondering what he was doing wearing them outside of an OR. He was out in the next two seconds and hurrying back.

He was almost sprinting when he reached the entrance, his things tucked under his arm as he stuck to a wall. He hid behind a pillar as he watched Irene talk to someone, heart beating fast because Phil would notice and would come this way, or someone else would see—

The nurse moved, her back to Cas, and he let out the breath he was holding. He almost ran after, jamming the ID against the sensor, getting out of the main complex, and then into the locker rooms.

Changing back into his clothes was easier. He bundled drapes in his hoodie, and was heading out, about to use the ID again when someone called out from the back.

"Wait right there."

Cas froze. He knew that voice. It was Nurse Irene again. Hugging his hoodie tighter, he turned around to see her take long strides towards him. She held a hand out. "Let me see that."

His heart skipped a beat. "Wh-What?"

She did not explain, instead reaching forward and taking the ID in his hand. She read the name. "Amy Boone." Her eyes were stern when she looked at him. "Amy doesn't work here at the OR."

"Yes – yes, I know…"

"Did you steal this from her?"

"She gave it to me."

"Can I call to confirm that?"

"Yes. Yes you can," he lied. He hoped his confidence would make her stop being suspicious.

She arched an eyebrow. "Who are you?"

"Steve Willis… I—"

"No," she said, "time to tell me the truth, son. You can't leave here without an ID, and I won't let you go unless you talk to me. So tell me. Who. Are. You?"

**~o~**

Sam's ears were ringing. He wished it would stop because it was really hurting his head and he was starting to get annoyed. There were too many parts of him that ached along with his head and he couldn't figure out what had happened and why. He hated this feeling. He hated this feeling so much… and where the hell was he?

He forced his eyes open to white walls and more ringing, smacking his dry lips. "D-D'n?" His voice wouldn't even leave his throat. He didn't know what to do. He wished he weren't so fucking helpless and…

More ringing.

Sam swallowed, throat feeling like he'd gargled glass, when he realised he was in a hospital. No. What was he doing here? Who'd gotten him here? He tried to contain his panic, concentrating on the ringing noise, only to realise that it wasn't in his ears but beside him. Turning his stiff neck toward it revealed that it was Cas's phone. Sam somehow reached it, squinted at the blurred number on it, and took the call.

 _"_ _Cas?!"_ a familiar voice shouted right into his ear.

"D'n?" Sam whispered in reply. Where was Dean? Why did he sound so desperate?

 _"_ _Sammy?"_ Dean sounded relieved. _"Sammy, are you okay? How're you feeling, buddy?"_

Sam licked uselessly at his chapped lips. "C-Crappy." And just like that, he was chuckling at his brother.

"You find this funny?" Dean asked him.

Sam snorted weakly. "Y-Yeah." He felt woozy. "So?"

 _"_ _You're high."_

"M-Maay-b-be."

 _"_ _Have fun, dude. Listen, I can't be here long. I'm at a payphone. They can put me on news channels any moment and I don't know why they haven't yet… where's Cas?"_

"Wha-What's happened?" Sam felt like he'd missed something really big here. Was Dean hiding?

 _"_ _Let Cas talk to me. He'll explain, okay?"_ Dean sounded unsure. _"Please?"_

"He's nn-ot h-here."

 _"_ _Oh, crap. But he left his phone? So can you tell him I called? I'm fine, okay? I'll call again when I can. Tell him that."_

"D'n—"

 _"_ _Sammy, you take care. You just need to get better now. I gotta go."_

"D-D'n, wh-where…?" Before Sam could complete his question, Dean had disconnected. Sam could feel his eyes drooping shut again, but Dean had said he'd call, so he clutched the phone to his chest as he let sleep take him back into its realm.

**~o~**

"Please let me go."

Cas hugged his hoodie tighter, the desperation coming out of him without him realising it. Irene stared him down but did not budge.

"I don't think so," she said. "Tell me why you're here, and why you specifically stole someone's ID. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't report you to management right now."

"I didn't mean to," Cas told her. "Look, I just…" He bit his lip.

"Just what?" She squinted at him. "And do I know you?"

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I—" He hesitated. "I'm Castiel Winchester. You might have heard of me."

"That new werewolf weeboo novelist? So, what, you're a mild celebrity and that lets you enter ORs just because you want to?"

"No," he said, "I did not intend for this… I'm just worried… I have my relative here."

"So do so many other family members. You broke into the OR thinking you were the only one, did you?"

"No, my brother-in-law, he's being treated here. I was hoping I could meet with his surgeon."

"At his OR?"

"Y-Yes… I heard he would take a while because he had a… a Whipple…"

"And you just knew Whipple is a long surgery."

"It is easy to browse the interwebs and find that out, yes." Cas had just guessed on that one. "My husband is not contactable and my brother-in-law is not very well. I did what I thought I had to."

Her face showed no expression. "I will be reporting you to the management anyway," she said. "Just 'cause you have a sad story, I'm not letting you get out without consequence. Everyone here has their own problems. Yours aren't the biggest around, you get me?"

"Yes, I perfectly understand you."

"Now leave. I don't want to see you here again."

"Yes," he said, and used the ID one last time, turned to find her glaring, and walked out as quickly as he could. That had been close and it wasn't even the end of his worries. He was only hoping no one had found Henriksen yet.

He gave the ID back to the still-snoozing Nurse Boone with a note: _I'm sorry. I believe this is yours._ Before he could waste any more time he made his way back down, stopping by another supplies closet to pick up some hospital trash bags and plastic sheets. The room he'd left Henriksen in was still empty, and after a few anxious moments he was back in, grabbing bedcovers from both the beds and slipping into the bathroom.

It was cramped, but Cas managed to somewhat spread the sheets on the floor, cloth underneath with plastic over it. He tucked another plastic sheet down the neck of his t-shirt so it looked like a bizarre bib, but he didn't care. He didn't want blood spattering on him.

He laid Henriksen on the sheets, unwrapped the saw, and got to work whilst hoping against hope that no one had suspected him, because he'd never pulled something so big _unplanned._

Cutting someone up had never been duller.

**~o~**

Special Agent Isabelle Vargas boarded her flight slightly worried and mostly exasperated at her partner. He had called her when he entered Sioux Falls, that he was going to be meeting the other Winchesters in a bit, and then texted her when he was heading to their room. However, after that, he'd not responded.

It had been about an hour now.

Normally, Belle wouldn't care so much. She had known Henriksen for a long time now; he got passionate, and he was probably living his dream, interrogating the Winchesters. The youngest one, Sam, probably wasn't in a position to answer, but Dean Winchester's husband surely had some explaining to do. However, if the brother and the husband were also involved, Henriksen was actually facing a dangerous, clever murderer, and that got Belle slightly worried.

A handsome steward checked in on them, shutting the overhead luggage panels. Belle took the moment to try and call Henriksen one last time. When he didn't pick up, she hoped he hadn't gone overboard with enthusiasm, and realising that he probably had, decided not to worry about it anymore.

**~o~**

The linen had been a good idea, for Henriksen's blood had seeped out like sluggish red rivers, and Cas knew he wasn't up for cleaning it. The cloth did a good job of absorbing blood, though by the end of his task, it was saturated. Cas had made quick work of Henriksen; hacking at flesh and sinew and bone and disorganised enough to mildly disgust himself. He didn't have a choice, though. He knew someone would be trying to contact Henriksen soon. That someone would know he was here. If nothing, Cas was positive Henriksen had requested the police to patrol this hospital, so he had to be careful.

He looked at the four bags before him, all containing the bedcovers, cotton, and Henriksen, and one of them, his hoodie, since too many people had seen him in it. He'd cut off as much of Henriksen's face as he could so it wouldn't be easy to identify him on the off chance that his body was found. As for the instruments, he wasn't sure what to do with them yet. If he didn't return them, the hospital would know they were gone when they did inventory, but he couldn't risk having his prints around.

He would probably just have to take them and throw them into a lake on his way to Dean. He would think of that once he got rid of Henriksen and found a way to get Sam out of this place.

Cas had already located the nearest trashcans for his job. He knew the hospital wouldn't actually sift through garbage, so unless his luck was horrible, he was safe. He made three repeated trips to the bin, waiting for his coast to be clear each time, and he was lucky. He was on his way to the fourth when a resident emerged from an opposite room, holding bloody bandages in his hand, swearing under his breath.

 _"…_ _fucking trashcans don't have covers and this hospital can be so slow sometimes, I swear to God…"_

Cas stopped in his tracks, letting the resident go ahead to throw the bandages and the man noticed him. "Why are _you_ throwing out the trash?"

Cas opened his mouth to reply, saying he was new, but the doctor interrupted him. "You're not staff. I know there's no one around here who's new."

Cas swallowed. "I…" He shook the bag. "I found it lying around."

"Whatever. Open it."

"W-What?" Cas's heart accelerated, breaths catching in his throat at the resident's words.

"Open the bag, man," the doctor said again, "I don't have time, you know."

"Why?"

"I'm holding a fuckload of dirty bandages, aren't I?" the man asked Cas, rolling his eyes. He waited another moment and when Cas didn't respond, he huffed and just dropped his waste into the bin, shaking his head at Cas as he left. Cas stared after him a long time before he could move a muscle. Between Irene and this resident, his heart refused to be calm and honestly if he pulled this off today, he was going to have a celebratory dinner with Dean.

He finally put the last of Henriksen in the bin when he realised that someone else could come in at any moment.

Once he'd thrown away all of Henriksen, Cas felt like half the weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Now he only needed to concentrate on smuggling Sam out of here and driving them both to Dean. He so hated that he couldn't be in control of this situation, that he and Dean had fallen prey to acting on circumstance. He just hoped it would all get sorted out once he reunited with his husband.

**~o~**

Dr. Peter Warner was tired as all hell. Today's shift had been a long, tedious one and he hadn't gotten one moment of shuteye before things had started to get confusing. His colleague, Pauline, had urged him to get rest when he'd started messing up, and an hour and a half later, here he was, waking up from his nap, not exactly fresh as a daisy, but a functioning doctor nonetheless. So when a strange man walked into the lounge, Peter didn't have the strength to request for him to wait outside. Instead, he rubbed at his eyes. "Yes?"

The man smiled. "I wanted to talk to you about my sister."

"Sister?"

"Yes. Clarissa. Your patient."

God, Peter must be ridiculously tired because he had no idea who Clarissa was. Maybe if this man mentioned the diagnosis, it would come back to him. He yawned. "If it's okay, can you wait outside for a bit?"

"Yes, of course," the man replied, but didn't budge. "Just had something to…" he trailed away, shutting the door behind him and before Peter could blink, he was wielding a gun.

" _Holy_! Look—"

"You're going to do exactly as I say," the man muttered, gun still pointed as Peter. "Do you understand?"

"P-Please…"

"Be quiet." The stranger said it in a low, calm tone, and yet, Peter could hear the menace in his gravelly voice.

"Okay," Peter whispered. "Okay. D-Don't kill me, please… I-I don't e-even—"

"Listen to me and follow my instructions," said the man. "And you will survive. Now let me go over our plan. Sit down."

"Yes. Y-Yes. Yes." Peter sat down as the man took the seat next to him and smiled. Peter didn't smile back.

"Now," said the other man, "let's start with introductions. I'm Castiel Winchester. You're going to help me get my brother-in-law safely out of this hospital."

**~o~**

Cas kept his head down as he and Warner wheeled Sam out of his room. Sam still wasn't awake, having been dosed on pain medication and many other things that Cas was thankful for, since he wouldn't have to explain to one extra person about what he was doing. Warner was a surgical resident and though Cas could see the beads of sweat on his forehead, he wasn't so bad with playing his part. Warner had even put the amputation instruments back for sterilisation without drawing attention to himself. That was an achievement.

Right now Cas needed help to take Sam out because as he'd predicted, there were patrol cars outside of the hospital and Cas was sure they knew what he and Sam looked like.

One of the nurses at the station noticed them and stood up from her files, walking over. She squinted at the chart in Warner's hands. "Where are you taking him?"

Cas almost groaned. The nurses around this hospital seemed to have a thing with stopping him.

"Dr. Owen said he wanted to do a check-up," said Warner.

She took the chart, adjusting her glasses as she read it. "Oh, yeah," she muttered, "he's due for a check-up from the doc, all right." She glared at Warner. "Tell your doc this is the last time we're moving patients to him. Next time he's called, _he'd_ better be at the bedside and not vice-versa. I've had enough of this. Understand?"

"Y-Yes, ma'am." Warner looked like he would cry, and Castiel sent him a disapproving glance. That was when the nurse noticed him, too.

"What, you two couldn't get an orderly for this job?"

Cas managed a small smile. "Dr. Warner told me that it is not a long walk. Sam's my brother-in-law and I just want to help." It was true, he'd do anything for Sam, and sometimes these things seemed to really mellow other people out.

As he'd expected. the nurse's stern expression melted a little. "All right, go on. Just this one time."

"Thank you," Cas replied mildly. Beside him, Warner trembled but Cas pushed the gurney on, heading towards the elevators. They got down without incident, found an empty corridor, and Warner got the bandages he'd stolen from one of the closets. Cas watched him bandage Sam's head with gauze like he had a wound there, and stick another bandage on Sam's cheek. Then Cas pulled Sam's hair into a ponytail.

They navigated their way to the exit; then Cas stood back, letting Warner move to the ambulance docks, heart sinking at the sight of Sam, pale and sick and looking worse than he did before.

A policeman got out of his car and Warner took off his ID to flash it at him. They spoke for a minute and Cas couldn't make out what Warner was saying, but he stayed within the doctor's vision so he wouldn't even dream of endangering Cas and Sam.

When Warner finished explaining, the cop turned to take a look at Sam. Cas's heart rate peaked again because _nownownow_. Warner handed the cop a chart they'd picked up on the way, belonging to one Dan Summers. The policeman took a look at the chart and glanced at Sam again, who now apparently matched the details written on Summers's file about his injuries, before backing away.

Cas only relaxed when Warner passed the police completely.

Now it was his turn. He fished his pocket for the facemask and stretched the elastic bands behind his ears. After taking another deep breath, he stepped out and the moment the hospital doors shut behind him, Cas started to cough.

He took Warner's path to the ambulances, coughing on and on, and he could feel the cops' gaze upon him as he walked. They had their eyes on him for a bit, but none of them approached him, hopefully thinking that he was a patient, and Cas kept moving until was facing Warner outside of the farthest ambulance. He stopped coughing and straightened up, knowing he and Warner didn't have much time.

"I've – I've loaded him in and I put the medicines on the driver's seat," said Warner, wringing his hands together. "C-Can I go n-now?"

Cas pulled his mask off. "Can you drive?"

"Yes. Yes, I can—"

"Get in and drive us out of here. As fast as you can. Take the other direction, I don't want to pass the police."

"B-But…"

The gun was out again. Warner backed away. "Okay. Okay, okay, please—"

"We have a deal," said Cas calmly, "keep it and you'll be fine."

Warner looked close to tears when he swallowed and nodded. Cas gestured to the ambulance with his gun. "Get in. We don't have all day." Warner obeyed and Cas watched him get into the driver's seat before going to the back of the ambulance so he could sit with Sam. Cas tucked the blanket around Sam securely, checking the belts holding him as they pulled out of the parking space. Then he placed a hand on Sam's wrist and shut his eyes for a moment, hoping things would stay smooth now.

He was so mad at Dean. So mad at that stupid impulse that Dean had acted on. So angry that he couldn't contact his own husband, and was reduced to just hoping that getting Sam out of the hospital wouldn't mean a death sentence for him. He was so, _so_ angry and furious and enraged and…

He just. He loved Dean. He _loved_ Dean. He loved Dean so very much that he'd do all of this again and again and again if it meant they could be reunited.

**~o~**

When Belle landed in Sioux Falls and switched on her phone, she didn't quite expect to be bombarded by so many messages, including one from her SAC. She called him back immediately.

"Where are you?" he demanded, and Belle had a bad feeling an entire storm had come and gone during her journey here.

"Is anything the matter?"

"We can't find Henriksen. Called the hospital, and they said he wasn't in. And guess what, neither are the Winchesters. One of the residents from the hospital is missing, too."

Belle ran her fingers through her hair. "That means Castiel is not innocent. Crap. So Victor's phone?"

"Untraceable. Destroyed, probably."

Belle's breath hitched. Was he even alive? "I'll – I'll interview the staff at the hospital," she told the SAC.

"You do that," he said. "I notified the media. They already have the Winchesters' faces on every screen. Henriksen should have done that last night, but better late than never. They're too dangerous to play games with."

"I know. Thanks," she replied. "I'll get back to you once I have some more info." She ended the call and went on to sit on a nearby bench until she could gather herself again.

**~o~**

Rogers had been a janitor in the OR for eight years now and some things never changed. So when he found an open instruments box underneath a cart in the scrub room of the cardio OR, he sighed and picked it up to put it in the dirty supplies' dumby. He wished the people around here would at least stop putting instruments on the floor, but he supposed he could spend another eight years here and it would never happen.

In the meantime, a few levels beneath where Rogers was cleaning, Johnson tossed a bunch of yellow bags into an incinerator. There were many today. Looked like a lot of emergency surgeries. He watched the incinerator chew up and burn away sickness and blood, wondering if this was the coolest thing ever, unknowing of the buzz going on in the hospital building above him.

**o**

**-Then-**

"Is he dead?" Cas's voice was watery, shaky.

It had been thirty minutes, maybe an hour since Dean had found Banks trying to violate Cas and he was still here in the basement, staring at the cold, dead eyes on the corpse before him. Cas was still here as well. He'd never left, even though Dean wouldn't blame him if he did. He knew Cas would be running to the police first thing, and, okay, he was screwed.

He'd gagged the professor when the screaming got too loud (scream for me, _bitch_ , you really like that, don't you?) and he hoped Sam was doing okay upstairs.

He swallowed as he got up. Cas was fully dressed now, eyes red-rimmed, shoulders slumped. Dean looked at his knife, and expected Cas to back away or scrunch his face, but instead, Cas held out his hand. "Thank you."

Astonished, Dean took it. And smirked. "Think I'm still a kid?"

Cas smiled back. "Yes, you are still only a little older than eighteen and I am twenty-two."

Dean shook his head, still holding Cas's hand as they made their way upstairs. Cas didn't seem to mind. However, when they entered the living room, they stopped short. The room was a mess; chairs overturned, curtains ripped, and china broken. Dean's heart started to beat fast in his chest. "Sam?!"

"Dean?" The reply was immediate and he breathed a sigh of relief at his little brother's familiar voice and watched Sam emerge from the bathroom. He eyed Dean once. "Wash your hands. We'll throw that knife away on our way out. I made it look like a burglary."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, it's awesome." He washed the knife and wrapped it in newspapers before gathering their things and putting them in the Impala. Dean dropped Cas at the university campus, and as he got out, Dean pressed a paper into Cas's hand. "Call me," he said, and that was it.

They got rid of the knife by throwing it into a lake on the way to Bobby's, who was happy to see them both. After some negotiations with CPS about Sam, and since Sam was fourteen, with a consideration of his own opinion plus with Bobby's legal guardianship of them both, the arrangement was legally approved.

As for Banks's murder, no one but Cas knew they were home at that time, and after six whole months of Dean worrying that Cas would blab, eventually he realised that Cas wasn't actually going to talk. Everybody thought Sam and Dean had run away from Banks's home during the time of the burglary. No one had seen Cas in the vicinity that day (thankfully), and the case was conveniently dropped. Dean didn't see or speak to Cas for a long time after.


	8. The Martyr

**Seven: The Martyr**

**Two days later**

Dean was watching bad television when he heard a knock on the door. The news channels were the best way to pass his time, talking about Dean being a killer and Henriksen and Cas and Sam missing (god, what have you done, Cas?), so these days, he usually just sat with his stolen beers and watched that crap. There were interviews with people who'd seen Cas on the day that he'd fled the hospital, including a dude named Phil who seemed to be disappointed that Cas was a criminal.

"Told me he was scrubbing for a Whipple," he'd said, looking all shocked. "I don't know why he was here in the OR." _Guess, genius. Where would you find weapons in a hospital?_

A nurse said the same, that Cas had stolen an ID and actually told her the fucking truth about his situation (except the murder bit), and damn, that dude could make anything sound sincere. Sammy was way better, of course; Cas's sincerity came with a bit of formal awkwardness. Sam could convince you to go get him the moon.

Right now Dean knew exactly who was knocking at his door and he could barely contain his happiness. Even so, he tucked his gun into his waistband and peeped between the window curtains before opening the door, only to find himself with an armful of his husband.

"Cas," he whispered, breathing in that citrus shampoo Cas loved, and sweat and blood and when they were separated, reached to cup Cas's face to connect lips with him.

The kiss was long and desperate. Cas's fingers were curled into Dean's jacket, lips sucking and nipping at Dean's and Dean gripped his hair, participating with all the zeal he had. He wanted to rip these stupid clothes off Cas and kiss him more and _God_ , it had been a terrible couple of days. But he controlled himself and broke away, cupping Cas's cheeks and smiling. "Hey."

Cas smiled back. "Hello, Dean."

Dean felt everything in and around him settle down into a peaceful rhythm at just those two words. Cas turned in Dean's grip and gestured to an old car he seemed to have stolen. "Sam is asleep," he said. "We either need to wake him up or carry him out."

"How's he doing?"

"He's fine, but he's tired."

"He eating?"

"Yes, we have been making sure he eats."

"I'll take Sam in," said Dean. "You rest." He'd been longing to see his brother, too. He couldn't feel guilty enough for leaving Sammy like that only to Cas and not being there for him, but he'd really had to track down those fuckers. The fact that he'd gotten to kill them was the only thing stopping him from tearing himself apart over this.

"We have a guest," Cas supplied, breaking through Dean's thoughts.

He narrowed his eyes at his husband. "Who?

When he said it, an utterly miserable-looking man stepped out of the car from the driver's seat. He was in dirty scrubs, hair askew and eyes slightly mad. Dean recognised him from the news. That missing doctor. He grinned. "Enjoying yourself there, buddy boy?"

"Why can't you just let me go?" the guy asked, and Dean turned back to Cas.

"Why didn't you get rid of him?" he asked in a low voice. "He's all over the news, dude."

"I needed him for Sam," said Cas. "He's a doctor and he can help. Since we're all hiding, he can just hide with us."

Dean nodded. This was a good idea. He gestured to the resident. "Come on in," he said. "I got plenty of—"

"Let me go," the guy repeated.

Dean reached for the gun in his waistband. "Just do as we say."

"No!"

"No?"

"N-No, screw you! I'm leaving! What will you d-do?" The man took off in the opposite direction, into the woods, and Dean pulled the gun out, shooting a bullet at him. It hit the doctor's back but he kept running and Dean moved forward to shoot another, and another, and another, until he was down.

Dean pocketed his gun. He nodded at Cas and started walking towards the doctor, husband by his side, only to find the resident lying a few yards away, bleeding on the leafy ground. Dean didn't really have to check his pulse to know that he was dead. He rolled his eyes. "Did he really think this wouldn't happen?"

"He might have had some hopes that it wouldn't," Cas replied.

"Clearly." Dean was exasperated. Today was a good day.

He put his arm around Cas. "Let's get Sammy settled in and deal with the body. Then we can take a shower together."

"You are really not subtle, Dean."

"What, and you are? What did you do to Henriksen?"

"Incinerator."

"And you cut him up."

"How did you know?"

"I watch the news, dumbass. It's fun. Do you wanna bet how long they take to guess why you were in the OR? I win and we can fuck, and if you win, we can still fuck."

"In that case, I made sure the instruments were replaced. Until they realise Henriksen is dead, they will never know."

"Good, that means we get to fuck."

"Dean."

"What? You're hot and I missed you."

"Wait." Cas stopped in his tracks, squinting at Dean. "Are you limping?"

Dean sighed. "A little. Bastard clipped me in the thigh. I took care of it."

"Dean, did you—?"

"I cleaned it. Several times. Okay?"

Cas nodded as he stared ahead, forlorn. "It just worried me."

Dean pulled him close. "I know," he said. "But I'm good. And we'll figure out how to deal with this. Okay?"

"Okay."

They headed back to the car together, and though Dean was well aware that everything was still very fucked up for his family, today was a fucking awesome day and he was going to be happy as all hell.

**~o~**

Dean joined Cas in the shower just like he'd promised. Despite his exasperation at Dean, Cas couldn't complain and he melted into Dean's arms. Fingers slid over his naked body and hands held him tight like he knew they forever would. He quivered with each touch, relaxing in the white noise of Dean's lips slurping at his wet skin and then reciprocated, kissing all of Dean, touching him and gripping him, hearing him sigh and moan.

The water was warm, flowing over their bodies, little rivers getting caught between them. Dean grabbed a bar of soap, kisses followed by lathering, and Cas leaned against the wall; every breath a shudder. His husband's hands, his lips, working slowly in sync, was tantalising, making his nerve endings crackle. He'd yearned to feel this way ever since Dean had left; yearned to touch Dean and let his husband run his hands over him like he always did. So he complied, let Dean do it, and cherished every moment of it, only to find Dean on his knees a few minutes later when he felt a teasing flick of Dean's tongue.

Cas clenched his jaw, fingers burying themselves in Dean's hair to feel another flick of his tongue, sending ripples through his nerves. He hissed. Dean gave a throaty, rumbling chuckle and it wasn't just the tongue anymore. Cas's eyes flew open, jaw dropping, hips thrusting forward. It was too much… he was… oh, Dean… _DeanohgohohgodDean_

Cas grunted. Dean didn't stop. Cas thrust again and moaned. "Dean…"

Dean gave him a fitting reply to that. Cas's nerves jolted, blood filling his capillaries, every cell inside of him screaming for more. Dean let him peak, cruel, devious— _ohwhy—_ he was letting go and Cas wanted to complain, complain so hard… but… Dean was up on his feet, that sparkle in his eye and a grin on his wet lips. He turned Cas around; pushed him against the wall, and braced his wrists against tile.

Cas took a sharp breath.

"God, Cas," Dean muttered, hand coming forward to hold him. Cas's whole body shook. His senses crackled, ears buzzed at Dean's lips and fingers, kissing him, dabbing lube, and it was all in a hurry, a hurry because Cas couldn't take it anymore and he knew that Dean couldn't, either. He couldn't stop himself from crying out when Dean pressed against him. "Oh!"

"You like that?" Dean whispered, pushing against him again, hissing in his own ecstasy. Cas gasped and rested his cheek against the wall.

"P-Please."

Dean chuckled shakily and thrust again, giving in to Cas's pleading, letting him beg for more and more, over and over. Cas had his eyes shut, his senses working overtime. They grunted and moaned and gasped in unison, bodies moving together in the serene music of dripping water until the world around them exploded in sparks of ecstasy; until every bit of energy and tension built up inside them over the last few days burst forth, leaving them calling each other's names.

When they finished and dressed together, Cas caressed Dean's face lovingly as he buttoned his husband's shirt and let Dean kiss him again, realising that nothing could compare to the happiness of being with family. The world around them might be literally burning, but Cas was at peace with everything right now.

**~o~**

Sam was running a slight fever towards the evening. He could tell from that warm, slight discomfort in his body that it wasn't a bad fever, but he still didn't want Dean worrying about it. His wound had been slightly red and itchy since last night; Warner had asked him to keep up on the antibiotics, warning him of an impending infection, and Sam did. However, Cas had gone to take a leak when Warner discovered it and Sam had made him stay silent about it. He didn't want Dean and Cas worrying about it. Today the itching was still there, a little worse, but he was going to take another dose of antibiotics after dinner and he was sure it would be fine.

He was up and coherent now; much to Dean and Cas's happiness, but the pain was too much to take sometimes. Both Dean and Cas were aware of Sam's rules of always wanting to be in his senses (he really hated that he'd been so out of it for the major part of three days). Sam did not take pain medication, and neither his brother nor his brother-in-law forced it upon him.

Dean wasn't quite so understanding about food, though.

"You gotta eat," he said like an old granny, ladling soup into a bowl and bringing it to Sam on a tray.

Sam glared at him and shook his head. " _You_ eat."

"Don't bitchface me, Sammy, and just eat the fucking soup or I'll feed it to you."

"You can't do that."

"Watch me." Dean turned to the kitchen. "Cas, can you bring a bib for my giant toddler?"

"I'm not _your_ toddler. You're my brother, not my mom."

"Yeah, I think I noticed when I didn't get pregnant with you."

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Whatever, Sam." Dean was not impressed. "Eat."

"Fine."

"Take it."

Sam reached for the tray with shaky hands and Dean helped him put it on his lap. It was chicken noodle soup that was reconstituted from a can and Sam was almost nauseated at the sight and colour. In the meantime, Dean got up from his chair. "I'll be back," he said. "Tell me if you want toast with that."

"No, thanks, Mom."

Dean flipped him off as he walked away to make his lasagne. He had spoken about how he'd stolen enough supplies from a Gas N' Sip in town to last them a lifetime; Sam doubted it really would, but he was grateful for it all the same.

Later on when they all sat quietly, enjoying the silence of each other's company and soaking in the warmth of a fire, Sam brought up the question that he needed an answer to. "So what made you do this stupid thing?" he asked Dean.

Dean's eyes flicked over to him. "Excuse me?"

"You know you were stupid, right?" Sam nodded at Cas, too. "Both of you."

Dean sighed. "And here I was, wondering how come our prince was so happy."

"Dean," Sam stopped him quietly.

Dean sighed. "What do I say, man? Those bastards shot you. They don't get to shoot you."

"So?"

"I lost my shit, okay? And Cas did what he had to, to save all our asses."

Sam shook his head. "You two shouldn't have done it."

"Well, we already did it. Just now in the shower, too."

"Shut up."

Dean straightened. "Sam—"

"I warned you last year."

Dean looked him squarely in the eye. "Look, it was getting fucking boring, okay?"

" _Boring_?" Sam huffed out a breath. "So it's okay to not be safe at all?"

"We _were_ safe," said Dean. "Until last year, no one even knew of it. I mean, sure, I loved murdering each one of those douchebags, but no one cared. Now," he snorted, "I have a cool serial killer name."

"Yeah, and the FBI is on your ass."

"Look, Sam, someone framed us. You know we didn't kill that dude at Yankton, or even the fella who died two days before Henriksen showed his ugly face. That wasn't us. And I'm _sure_ it's the Brady family now."

"And you were sure it was them when they shot me?"

"I didn't know who the fuck they were until _I_ shot them, Sam." He leaned forward. "Seriously. Why are they trying to kill you?"

Sam pressed his lips together. "Why do you think, Dean?"

"It was a fucking accident. There was no way Cas or I were involved in Brady's death. And I hated him, I know. We were even in town that day, but he was dead by the time—"

"Yeah. I know. You don't have to explain it to me."

Dean huffed in annoyance. "Assholes." He checked his watch. "Anyway, bedtime for you. Don't want that fever to get worse."

Dean hadn't even checked Sam's temperature or felt his forehead. Sam blinked at his brother and watched Dean shrug. "Ain't nothing you can hide from me, little brother." He pursed his lips. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You worry."

"So if you're hurt, have had surgery, and are running a fever, I shouldn't worry? This doesn't mean you could have a goddamned infection?"

Sam sighed. "Dean. Relax, man. If it were so bad I wouldn't be sitting up talking to you. I asked Warner about it and he said it's normal. Just told me to keep taking the antibiotics."

"You sure?"

Sam threw him a disapproving look.

"Again. Don't bitchface me," Dean demanded. "Are you good?"

"Yeah. Will you stop worrying about me now?"

"I'm sorry. Have you met me?"

Sam snorted. "You're a freak."

"A murdering freak. Thank you."

"You're really proud of it, aren't you?"

"I help get rid of some real bottom-dwelling scum. That Jack dude back in our town? He was a paedo. If his girlfriend knew, she'd be celebrating, too."

"Yes, I know, Dean." Sam smiled mildly. Dean, however, didn't smile back.

"I ruined it for you, too, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't, jerk," said Sam. "Now sing me a fucking song." He adjusted his bedding and lay back down slowly, ignoring the smarting of his wound.

"Sammy—"

Sam rolled around and buried his face in his pillow. "You're my big brother. 'M not ashamed of you." There was silence. Sam emerged from a face-full of fluff and blinked at his brother. "Are you gonna sing?"

"I don't have the guitar."

"I don't care."

There was another long pause, and then a hand on Sam's head, just resting there lightly. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam smiled once again and let himself drift away into sleep as Dean started to sing _Sweet Child O' Mine,_ his serene voice defeating the dank silence of the cabin.

**~o~**

Dean jolted awake from his sleep. At first, he wasn't sure what woke him up. Cas was wound tightly around him, holding him under their blanket. It was a cool night and Cas's warmth poured into Dean, almost completely comforting him. However, he couldn't ignore that weird sensation in his stomach that something was wrong.

As if in answer, Dean heard a groan from the other bed. It was Sam. Untangling himself from Cas immediately, Dean sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "Sammy?"

Beside him, Cas shifted. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know." Dean started climbing off the bed as Cas sat up after him, still a little disoriented with sleep. Dean was crossing the room to Sam's bed. Nightmares were not new to Sam, but something felt out of place here. He was switching on the lights and by Sam's side the next moment, only to see him covered in sweat and squirming underneath his blankets.

Definitely a nightmare. Dean reached for Sam's shoulder. "Sam?" However, he withdrew his hand immediately, hissing. "Shit!" Sam was warm. _Very_ warm; heat seeping even though his clothes.

"What happened?" Cas dragged himself out of bed and was padding towards Dean. Dean turned around to his husband, the worry spreading throughout his features.

"He has a fever."

Cas came forward, felt Sam's forehead, and took his hand off immediately. "That's a high fever."

"Ya think?" Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Get me the Tylenol and some water."

Cas nodded once, unquestioning, and went to locate the items. Dean shook his brother awake, the heat really worrying him. "Sam. Come on, wake up."

Sam's eyes opened but only slightly, his breaths gasping and more sweat pouring down his face. Beside Dean, Cas emerged with a washcloth soaked in a bowl of water and Tylenol in each hand, with the drinking water bottle tucked under his arm. He set the items down carefully.

"Thanks," Dean told him, wringing the washcloth as he placed it on Sam's forehead. Sam moved a little but didn't react, and Dean palmed his brother's damp hair. "Hey," he said, speaking quietly. "Wake up. Come on."

Sam didn't do that.

"Check his wound," Cas supplied from the background. Dean did as he said, pulling down the blankets and lifting Sam's tee. His brother groaned softly but Dean didn't pay attention, instead peeling back the bandages slowly, dreading what he'd see underneath. When he peeled it back, he had to stop for a bit, his other hand going to his mouth in surprise.

 _"_ _Fuck!"_

"What is it?!" Cas leaned closer to have a look, and when he did, he gasped, too. The wound was swollen, almost looking like it had blistered, and was red: it was very infected. Reluctantly, Dean went to touch it, squeeze it for pus, and when he did, white liquid oozed out slowly, making his breath catch in his throat.

"Fuck, Cas, get me those hospital supplies, would you?"

Cas was off before he could finish the sentence, and Dean leaned in further, poking around the warm skin surrounding Sam's wound. Sam moaned.

"Hey, hey," Dean muttered, looking at his brother. "It's all right, now, we'll fix this, we'll fix this." He wasn't even sure what he was blabbering, and if he could fix it. He only knew that he couldn't let Sam die. He squeezed his brother's forearm. "Nothing's gonna happen to you while I'm around," he told Sam, and even though Sam couldn't hear that, it was a promise Dean made to himself and his brother.

Meanwhile, Cas was back with new materials for Sam's wound. "I'll take care of this," he told Dean. "Just wake him up and try to get him to take the medicine."

"Okay." Dean shifted to Sam's head and removed the washcloth to wet it again. Once he'd replaced it, he shook Sam again. "Hey." Sam didn't move. Biting his lip, Dean leaned closer to his brother. "Okay. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but—" He went ahead, rubbing his knuckles against Sam's sternum.

Sam gasped, eyes opening, and Dean stopped. Cas had adorned a pair of gloves and he paused in his work to look up. "Is he awake?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sammy!"

Sam's mouth opened and shut, eyes reflecting a world of pain that wrung out Dean's heart. "Take it easy," he whispered, "it's just us. What's happening?"

Sam swallowed a couple of times. "D'n."

"Yeah." Dean shook the bottle of Tylenol. "You need some meds, okay? Why didn't you tell us it was this bad?"

Sam's face drained of colour. "N-No."

"Come on," Dean coaxed him. "Please? Just Tylenol."

Sam seemed to ponder it. Then, very reluctantly, he opened his mouth.

"Atta boy," Dean praised him, dropping two pills into his palm and opening the water bottle. He hauled Sam up with one arm so he wouldn't choke and then pushed the pills into his mouth, one by one. Next, he held the water bottle to Sam's mouth. Sam gulped down the medicine, throat working weakly, and by the time Dean had laid him back down his eyes were slits again, rolling up as he slid back into either sleep or unconsciousness—Dean dreaded to figure out which. He sat back and watched Cas finish cleaning Sam's wound; methodically with a lot of care, and then finally, the new bandages were applied.

Once Cas had cleaned up, he joined Dean on the floor next to Sam's bed. There were no words needed when Cas pulled him into his arms and Dean just gave in, never having felt this helpless his entire life.

**~o~**

Dean's hopes for Sam's miraculously getting better were shattered when an hour later, he heard an ominous choking sound coming from his brother's bed. He'd just changed Sam's washcloth and gotten back under the blanket that he and Cas were sharing when it happened. Liquid started spilling from the corners of Sam's mouth, even though he was still unconscious.

"FUCK!"

Dean was at his brother's side in a second, turning him over, vomit splashing onto the floor. Sam opened his eyes just at that moment, scrambling and failing to sit up as he retched up his dinner right onto Dean.

"Okay," Dean said, not caring about the gross stuff he was now covered in. "Just… do what you gotta." Beside him, Cas had hurriedly emptied a plastic bag of the medicines and handed it over, which Dean helped Sam hold. The puking sounded and looked painful and Dean just sat there with a hand on his brother's shoulder, hating that he wasn't able to do anything else. When Sam was done, Cas handed Dean another washcloth so he could shakily wipe Sam's face.

Sam looked plain mortified and confused.

"D-Dean…"

"Don't worry about it," Dean told his brother, taking his stained pillow and shucking it aside. He pulled another pillow from the bunk over Sam's and put it down. "Sleep on your side," he said, helping Sam get into position. He drew his fingers through Sam's sweaty hair. "Me and Cas are right here. If you feel bad again, just tell us okay?" Sam nodded tiredly as Dean covered him up. He changed the washcloth on Sam's forehead, watching clear water droplets run down as he wrung it out, disappointed that Sam wasn't feeling better. By the time he had gone and taken a shower and changed into cleaner clothes, Cas had taken Sam's temperature again.

It had barely budged.

Dejected, Dean got back into his corner with Cas, underneath their blanket, thinking. He leaned against the old wooden walls, attempting to keep his head clear. There had been something on his mind the moment he'd realised what was wrong with Sam. He wasn't prepared to face it yet, but if he didn't do it now, he never would and he didn't have much time to wait and gather any more courage for this. He had put Sam and Cas in imminent danger. If it came to that, he needed to fix it. And right now, it looked like it _had_ come to that.

He tilted into Cas, trying hard to toughen up, and Cas registered the next moment that something was going on.

"Dean?"

"I think Sam needs a hospital."

Cas got alert. "What?"

"If we don't get him to a hospital, he'll die." Dean swallowed. "Listen, I have a plan—"

"Dean. Don't…"

"If that's how Sam's gonna live, then I don't care," said Dean.

"That is not a good idea, what you're thinking right now."

Dean scoffed. "You got something better there, cowboy?"

"We should think for a bit."

"And let Sam die?"

"No, no—"

"Then tell me quickly because we're running out of time here, man." Dean was tired, desperate, and he knew they had no other choice. If Cas had a better idea he was all ears.

His husband thought about it for a moment. "I… we could, perhaps drop Sam off—"

"I ain't leaving my brother alone," said Dean. "I can't, Cas, look at him."

"He is the only one out of us who is not wanted for a crime," Cas told him. "The other option is to surrender."

"Not doing that, man," said Dean. "We haven't been doing this years to be taken down by some lowlifes who shot at my brother. _Dead_ lowlifes."

"We are running out of options then, Dean," said Cas.

"Not really," Dean replied, "You know there's still one way."

Cas took a long time to reply to that as he grasped on to what Dean said, remorse decorating his face as he looked at Dean. "No."

"Cas, don't make this difficult."

"Dean."

He sighed, fingering Cas's chin. "Please? Just. Just this once. Just listen. You know there's no other way. Sammy can't die… not like this. I—" His voice caught in his throat, the very aspect of anything even remotely close to Sam's death threatening to overwhelm him. He hadn't felt this helpless, this cornered in a long time but if this was what he had to give up to keep Sam and Cas safe, he would.

"I can't lose Sam," Dean pushed, when Cas didn't reply. "I can't lose him. You know that."

"Dean…"

"Please…"

All that came out this time was a whisper. Dean blinked and took a steadying breath.

It took a few moments for him to feel Cas shift beside him, and then the hand on his shoulder. When he looked up, Cas looked morose and in no mood to comply, but then he did. "I understand," he said at long last.

"I knew you would." Dean gave him the biggest smile he could muster. "Just please help me."

Cas sighed, leaning forward and kissing Dean's mouth. "Have I ever refused?"

Dean chuckled in return and rested his forehead against Cas's as he narrated his plan, drinking in every moment of whatever he shared with his husband because he had a nagging feeling they wouldn't see each other for a long time.

When morning came and Sam's condition had barely changed, Dean helped pack Cas and Sam's things. "I need to destroy this one anyway," he said, pointing to his temporary phone that he'd nicked from a shop. "Call me once you and Sam are safe and I'll destroy it."

"Sam is not safe with me."

"Better you than me," Dean replied. "Come on, man, we agreed to that."

Cas nodded, eyes flicking to the floor. "Yes, we did."

"You know the story, right? You never knew it was me, and when you did, you thought I could change. Tell them about all those previous idiots we killed so they believe you."

"I cannot do that to you. I told you."

"Yes, and we talked about it. So shut up and get a good life, Cas. You and Sam. They're after my ass, Sammy needs help, just take this opportunity."

"Dean…"

Dean moved to grab his husband's shoulder. "It's okay. I won't hold it against you. And I owe it to you guys for dragging you into this shit."

"Don't blame yourself."

"Of course I'm blaming myself," Dean scoffed. "If I'd just waited for Sam to tell me who those assholes were, I could've killed them better."

"Henriksen would still suspect us."

"Yeah, but he could never prove shit until he saw me, so who gives a fuck?" Dean's heart sank, the ramifications of his actions getting clearer and clearer as time passed.

Cas looked like his entire world was falling apart. "I cannot enjoy a safe life knowing the FBI is after you."

"But I want you to have that life." Dean forced Cas to look into his eyes. "I want you to have it, okay? Just do this much for me."

A bird chirped somewhere outside the cabin. Cas swallowed. "All right. For you. And for Sam, because Sam deserves a good life."

"Damn right, he does." Dean touched Cas's cheek. "And so do you. I don't want this bullshit taking away from what you should have."

His husband nodded and took a deep breath. "So I kidnapped Henriksen?"

"Yep. For me."

Cas smiled ever so slightly. "Kidnapping is still an offense, Dean."

"You were desperate," said Dean. "And you were ridiculously in love with me, so when I asked you to bring Henriksen along, you couldn't say no. You've never said no to your sexy-ass husband."

"I am not sure that sounds very good."

"Come on, Cas," pleaded Dean. "You know I'd put Sammy up to the job if I could. Plus, those idiots at the OR even bought that exact story the other day."

Cas looked down. "I said that because it was true. I wanted to be here with you, or have you there with me."

There was a moment of silence. Dean took two steps forward and grabbed Cas, leaning over to kiss him. Cas in his arms was so comforting, so familiar, he didn't want to let go. He sank into his husband's embrace, letting Cas's tongue explore him and he just wanted to melt into this world of bliss; to forget everything…

So they didn't let go. They didn't separate until they needed to breathe. Until they realised that they had to pull apart, or that they never would.

**~o~**

Dean packed food for Sam and Cas. He made pancakes, talking the whole time. "Sammy loves these," he said. "Wake him up and feed it to him. I've put the bucket in the backseat just in case. Don't drive too rashly… kid could get sick again. And you know which meds to give him, right? I—"

Cas shut him up by hugging him from behind. "I love you," he said, and when Dean took his hand and squeezed it, he knew Dean was saying it back.

They tucked Sam into the backseat of a car that Dean stole, and Cas watched Dean handle his brother with an extreme gentleness that would make people question if he were really a murderer.

They did not kiss again, or even hug. They didn't want to touch each other again, for fear of not letting go. When Cas pulled out of the cabin, he kept watching Dean in the rearview mirror, heart heavy and aching, and when Dean was gone, the loneliness that filled him was unbearable.

He drove for a few hours with a few stops, first to wake Sam up for breakfast and medicine, and then having to deal with Sam not keeping any of that down. When Cas had taken them far enough from Dean, he found a payphone and made the call.

"Hello, Dean."

" _Cas_." Dean's voice lit up like a thousand Christmas lights.

"I am going to be calling an ambulance now."

" _Okay_." Dean's breath rustled over the phone. " _Good luck."_

"Thank you, Dean. Take care." Cas cut the call, took a deep inhale, and then dialled 911.

"I need an ambulance," he told the operator. "My brother-in-law has an infected wound and is running a very high fever." Once the operator told him there was an ambulance being dispatched to his location Cas got back into the car. Then he rested his forehead on the steering wheel, waiting for everything to change.

"For Dean," he whispered to himself when he heard the sirens approaching ten minutes later.

**o**

**-Then-**

Seven months in, Cas started writing to Dean. Dean was annoyed at first. He'd asked Cas to _call_ , not _write_. Nonetheless after a bit, Dean learned to stop minding it. It became something that belonged to him and Cas, like a secret, like their thing, and Dean decided he'd rather keep it.

Cas wrote every week. They were long, beautiful letters and cheesy as all hell but Dean loved the fuck out of them. He even responded, not in so many words, but he tried. He hoped Cas would know what he felt. He kept the letters safe, in a box under his bed. Sam knew he had them, but apart from the occasional teasing he didn't say much. He was well aware that Cas wasn't like the others for Dean. He would help Dean reply sometimes, too. Listen to Dean go on about Cas and be there for him.

Cas finally had enough money from a new, better-paying job to visit Dean a year later. Dean was teasing him now, that he was way past nineteen and perfectly legal, but he wasn't sure if Cas had feelings for him. Sam said it was obvious from the letters but Dean always thought; what if Cas was a clueless bastard? What if he wanted to be friends but just wrote well?

There was another hurdle. Dean wasn't sure if Bobby even knew he was gay. Or, that Sam wasn't straight, either (Sam wasn't gay and Dean only needed to know Sam was his brother and that he was happy and safe and the rest was up to Sam). They knew Bobby wouldn't say much but they didn't want to take chances for Cas's first time around. So Dean made sure with Sam that Bobby was not home when they invited Cas over to the house.

Dean dressed carefully and checked his watch every five minutes. "Quit it, Dean," Sam muttered, tapping Dean's knee as they sat on the couch, Sam bent over homework. "You're shaking me, too."

"Dude, what if—?"

"He just called, he'll take a bit."

"What if he thinks I'm a fucking weirdo or some shit, man?"

"That wouldn't be wrong," Sam said, bored, as he scribbled something into his workbook.

Dean snorted. He didn't know why, but that had made him feel a lot better. "Bitch," he said, snorting to himself.

"Jerk," was Sam's prompt reply, just as there was a knock at the door.

Dean shot up from his seat. "Shit."

Sam put his pen down as he stood up to clap Dean on the back. "Go for it."

Dean clenched his jaw and nodded. He took a deep breath, strode to the door, and when he opened it…

… There was Cas, as gorgeous as ever, hair slightly askew from travelling, blue eyes on Dean, mouth slightly ajar.

God, he looked _hot_.

It didn't take more than a second for Dean to close the distance between them and kiss Cas straight on the lips.

It was like a part of his brain was opening up. Cas took a moment to respond but then he kissed Dean back, their lips working against each other, tongues flicking, Dean's hands running up and down Cas's spine. He couldn't take it anymore. He wanted this and more. He wanted all of Cas, and fuck, fuck, this felt so good…

Sam coughed in the background and Dean snapped back to reality. He jumped away from Cas, scratching his head when he turned around, only to see his brother gather all the homework material from the table. "Hey, Cas," he said, nodding.

Cas smiled at him. "Hello, Sam. You look taller than you did in the pictures Dean sent. Are you doing well?"

"Yeah." Sam cleared his throat. "I guess I hit that growth spurt. I'll be in my room." He trotted to the staircase, taking two steps at a time, his neck flushed. Dean stared after his brother before he looked back to Cas.

"Come on."

He took Cas's hand and led him to the salvage yard, stopping to kiss him every few seconds until he couldn't control it, until every part of him tingled, his body and senses on fire, and he crawled after Cas into one of Bobby's old trucks to pull the clothes off him and fuck him until they were screaming each other's names.

They lay there a while after, naked, and Dean had never been held like this before. Never been _cuddled_. He hated it, he hated mushy love but Cas was so, so different and he just wanted to be in his arms forever, in this safety and warmth he'd never felt before.

Later, saying goodbye to Cas was hard but Dean went to visit him at his motel room and fucked him in the shower and against the wall and on the floor and the bed. He could never have enough of Cas's lips on him, or his hands touching him and enticing him and the way Cas said his name and his eyes and the fucking _cuddling_ and talking. Cas was so fucking sexy, so considerate, so amazing, Dean could never have enough of anything when it came to Cas. Hell, he couldn't fucking imagine having his clothes _on_ with Cas in the vicinity.

Cas came to visit a lot after that, and even if he did it often, the intervals in between were full of longing and hunger and they'd never be able to keep their hands off each other; never run out of things to talk about. When Dean couldn't take it anymore, when he was annoyed at Cas's exams or his damned assignments keeping him away, he decided he needed to start visiting Cas, too. And keeping Bobby away from the house for a bit, sneaking out to meet Cas sometimes was one thing, but to travel to Wichita, where Cas lived and went to college, was not something he could pull off without Bobby noticing.

After days of trying to gain courage, he finally spoke to Bobby.

"Bobby, uh…" Dean looked up from the tyre he was fixing as Bobby worked on the bumper. "I got something to tell you."

Bobby wiped sweat off his forehead on the sleeve of his overalls. "Is this about that boy you been hangin' out with?"

Dean blinked. Okay, that was unexpected. "How did you…?"

"Known for a bit now. Pretty obvious, if you ask me. You and Sam both."

"Sam?"

"Saw the kid makin' out with someone behind the old post office the other day. Seen him there with girls a lot, but there've been boys, too."

"Yeah, yeah, he—"

"I'll wait for him to talk when he feels like. Or not." Bobby narrowed his eyes. "What kind of a fool are ya boys takin' me for, huh?"

Dean blushed. "It wasn't like that. You know Dad…"

"Your daddy was an idiot. I ain't."

That statement made Dean chuckle. Of course not.

"And Dean?" Bobby interrupted his thoughts. "Ya bang boys in my old truck and leave it like you did last time, you're scrubbing it out yourself, _and_ the toilet for a month."

Dean swallowed. "Got it. Sorry."

Their lives were great after that. Their lives were beautiful and stable and comfortable until, one night, Bobby got mugged and shot in the head. That night when Bobby breathed his last in front of Dean, he vowed to find the killer.

It was some local guy who'd wanted money desperately but Dean didn't spare him. He had Cas by his side as they cut him, watching his blood make rivers. Just like Cas had been when they'd buried Bobby. This was different from burying Bobby, though. Dean hadn't felt so happy doing something for ages now.

They made a pact. That they'd always keep themselves excited like this. Happy. After avenging Bobby, Dean avenged countless others, Cas by his side. They hunted every three months. They travelled, stalked, preyed upon scumbags, every asshole they killed either bearing John's face or the professor's grin, or the mug of Bobby's murderer. Dean had promised to erase them all and have fun while doing it, and it just got amazing with Cas at his side. Life never lost its charm when he had Cas with him.


	9. The Sister

**Eight: The Sister**

 

**One week later**

**Tyngsborough, Massachusetts**

Marv Jenkins always knew he was going to die early. His diabetes had never been in control and the doctors had told him just as much, that he either needed to take care of himself and keep up on his medication, or that he wouldn't survive. But then in all the ways that he had imagined he'd drop dead, this was not one of them.

"Please – please, I don't know!" he hissed, his throat clogging up.

The stranger was pressed against Marv, strong with a painful grip, restraining him easily with his knife against Marv's throat. "You know where Dean Winchester is," he growled, "and you're going to tell me."

"N-No! I swear I don't! He's a psychopath. I only knew his husband, I—"

Excruciating pain hit his throat, seizing his entire body. The man tightened his grip on Marv and there was more pain and _ohgod no more_ until… finally, bliss…

Bliss.

**~o~**

"You know this man, don't you?"

Cas had been eating a quiet dinner at a burger joint when a photo suddenly slid across the table to land beside his plate. He looked up to see Isabelle Vargas take a seat before him, and then cast another glance at the photo. His heart skipped a beat. He knew who this was.

"This is my literary agent," he told Vargas. "What happened?"

"He was found dead."

"Where?"

"In his office." Vargas was silent for a moment, seemingly trying to figure Cas out. She narrowed her eyes. "Is your husband here in Tyngsborough?"

"No," Cas replied quickly. "I promise you he isn't."

"Look, Castiel, we have a deal."

"And it stands," he replied. "I would tell you if I knew where Dean was. This is—"

"Don't tell me it's the Bradys," she sighed, interrupting him.

Cas narrowed his eyes at her. "It was not Dean. Two of them tried to kill Sam. I do not understand why it's impossible that they committed this murder."

Vargas signalled for a coffee as she rubbed her eyes. The waitress was there with a cup the next moment, pouring coffee out of a pot. Vargas reached for the sugar. "We investigated them. We sent forces to Boston. They're wealthy, they own a small pharmaceutical business, and we suspect they do more than just kill people, but—"

"I don't understand why they are not behind bars, then," Cas snapped.

"There is no evidence," said Vargas. "Look, even if Dean didn't kill half those people, he is still a criminal. He still murdered my ex-partner." She took her cup and drained her coffee in one go, making Cas's throat ache just watching. She put her cup on the table and stood up, taking Marv's picture with her. "You have a nice day."

Cas watched her go and pushed his burger away, already having lost his appetite.

The last few days had been horrible, to say the least. Cas had been reported to the police the moment he and Sam reached the hospital, then taken into custody. There had been several interrogations and even a search of his and Dean's house and Cas stuck to his story—with everything Dean had told him to say and hidden anything and everything suspicious well enough that it wouldn't be a hindrance.

"He means a lot to me," Cas said. "I didn't know he was going to… but he wanted to talk to Agent Henriksen. That's all."

"You knew what he was up to, though? Before that day? That he was killing people?"

"Yes."

"You didn't report that to the police."

"He – he…" Cas chuckled nervously. "He said he'd change…"

"And you believed him."

"He is a very good man. He is very caring of me and Sam and I know he didn't want to do it. He was helpless."

Vargas's eyes widened in shock. "So… since he was so helpless… you kidnapped a federal agent?"

Cas wrung his hands together, his shoulders slumped. He had noticed that it made him look small, scared, and unsure. "I… I didn't know what to do. I just followed whatever I thought was right."

"And you watched while he murdered Special Agent Henriksen and Dr Peter Warner."

"I tried to stop him, but he threatened me." Cas mustered up his saddest face. "He doesn't mean it. He's never meant any of it. He's a very kind man and he treats me so well."

Cas's statement had, of course, led the FBI to think he was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. They asked him if Dean abused him and Cas denied it, feeling sick to his stomach as he hinted at emotional and verbal abuse instead. It made him throw up to say those things about Dean and he spent the end of all the evaluations crouched over a toilet bowl, covering his eyes and trying to keep his breathing in check. If these people knew of the kindness in Dean, they would never arrest him. It was true, perhaps, that killing people was wrong, but Dean was still a good person.

He had chosen this life himself; had been in awe of Dean when Dean had killed Banks all those years ago and he agreed with Dean's principle of killing all such human beings. They didn't deserve to live. He had first-hand experience in the kind of pain they'd caused. The nightmares and flashbacks and the painful disconnection from reality; of feeling like he was incomplete and ruined; he knew it all and anyone who made someone feel this way deserved to die.

Cas had derived happiness from stalking them and killing them. From watching the fear in their eyes when they knew they were about to die. That they were about to suffer for being inhuman. Cas had derived pleasure from sharing this experience with Dean, sharing this exhilarating, beautiful mission they were on with the one person who loved him through all his imperfections and beyond; who was unconditional and giving. _Cas_ had chosen all of this.

It was far from Stockholm Syndrome or any other kind of psychological condition and Cas hated that he didn't even try to refute it. It was an insult to the real people who had Stockholm Syndrome, who suffered in the hands of the very people Dean and Cas killed. However, he had promised Dean something and he stuck to it.

The FBI had a psychiatrist evaluate him. Cas memorised all the tells for lying and didn't use a single one. He stuck to his story again and again and after all of it, Vargas spoke to him. In the end he washed his face in the bathroom, muttering just one mantra to himself. _For Dean._

Dean wanted this. Cas preferred going to prison with Dean and dying there, but Dean wanted something else, and this was the least he could do.

The FBI offered him a bargain after having evaluated him.

"We know Dean will try to contact you again," said Vargas.

"What do you want me to do?"

"We can offer you a deal," she said. "I spoke to the DA about this. You're going to help us find your husband. Any call or message or even clues that you get from him, you come to us. You tell us first."

"In exchange for?"

"We'll keep you out of prison. You were not operating out of free will, and I understand."

Cas wanted to grab her neck and show her just how much of a free will he had, but he didn't ( _for Dean for Dean_ ). He needed to be there for Sam, too. It wasn't just about Dean either. So when Jessica flew over with one of the best lawyers from Sam's firm and the lawyer urged Cas to take the deal, he did.

"How do you know for sure that he'll contact me?" he asked Vargas, even though he knew the answer.

She had smiled. "He won't throw you away. He needs validation. He's an exhibitionist. He needs someone to be proud of him. And that is going to be you."

She was completely wrong except for the exhibitionist part, but Cas had to pretend to agree with her.

He'd been meeting with a lot of his and Dean's victims' families. He'd spoken about all the murders he'd committed with Dean, but he'd had to twist it to sound like only Dean was involved. Sometimes, talking to these people made Cas miss his family very much. He'd never felt lonelier, with Dean elsewhere and Sam suffering an illness. He couldn't even imagine either of them dead. The prospect of speaking to them again was the only thing keeping him going. It was the only thing that motivated him to get out of bed on some days.

"Do you see now?" Vargas had asked him, grabbing the opportunity when she saw the forlorn look in his eyes. "I know Dean killed people who were not good citizens, but it isn't upon him to decide who dies. They still have families and a life and they still deserve a fair trial—like the one Dean will get when we find him."

The statement kept Cas staring at the ceiling some nights. Was she right? Had the principle that had been part of him for such a big chunk of his life been flawed?

He spent most of his days at the hospital, waiting outside the ICU for Sam when he wasn't eating or with Vargas. Jessica was here and very worried for Sam, both because of his health and the revelation that his brother was a serial killer. She had the spare bedroom at the house and when she and Cas had to come back home at night, the hospital being unwilling to let them sleep outside the ICU, they spoke over midnight coffees and bonded.

The diner had to be shut down because there was no one to run it. Charlie and Kevin resigned, still friendly, but maintaining that they couldn't work for a serial killer. There was no one else to take their places, either. Marv had refused to work for Cas ever again and no other agent even wanted to _talk_ to him, putting Cas out of a job and, well, Marv was dead now. Cas and Dean had money saved but Cas used it wisely because he wasn't sure how long this was going to take.

He had promised himself he'd look for a job as soon as Sam woke up, but Sam was being adamant about staying unconscious, it seemed. He'd been transferred to the local hospital and was now being treated there. His infection was clearing up but his lack of consciousness and coherency had made the doctors keep him in the ICU after promising Cas that they'd put him in a regular room once they were sure he was doing okay. Cas was very worried about that. A week was too long to stay unconscious. Sam dying was not acceptable at all, and he wished, even prayed that Sam would recover.

When he walked back to the hospital from the diner and back to the ICU with that thought in mind, a new prayer for Sam, he was surprised find a very ecstatic Jessica run towards him. She didn't even halt for a moment before pulling Cas into a bear hug.

"What happened?" he asked, putting his arms around her.

"Oh, Cas." She broke apart, eyes sparkling. "Sam just woke up."

**~o~**

**Three days later**

Sam was already bored of the hospital. His week-long bout of unconsciousness hadn't worked for him because the doctors were just everywhere, checking this and that, being absolutely paranoid about him, when he knew he was going to be fine. They didn't seem to believe the same thing and Sam understood that; it was their job to be absolutely sure that he didn't die.

He was only worried for Dean, honestly. He had spoken to Cas, and Cas told him about how Dean had arranged for him and Sam to be safe. Cas wasn't happy about being safe at the cost of Dean but he also said that he'd been concerned about Sam's wellbeing as much as Dean and hence, had agreed to this setup.

"You were very sick, Sam," he said, looking down at his hands. "We needed to get you to a hospital. You know how much your brother cares about you. I do, too. The possibility of your death was unacceptable to the both of us."

Sam could see how much he hated not having Dean with them and instead of empathising or agreeing with Cas's lovey-dovey praises of Dean, he wanted to go and kick his brother's ass for being a goddamned martyr.

He cleared his throat. "Cas. Thank you."

"No, I know it looks selfish—"

"Dean is stupid," Sam told him, "but I know where you're coming from, okay? I know what you're doing for me. For _us_. That it's not easy."

Cas took a sharp breath. "I lied," he said, voice cracking a little, "I lied about Dean and told these people that he treated me badly. I made them think I was _brainwashed_."

"You had to," Sam pointed out. "And you did it to take care of me. The nurses told me you were here a lot. As much as you could stay."

"I am protecting myself and leading Dean to a life in prison."

"No." Sam caught his wrist. "Hey, no. We don't get to pity ourselves, okay? We're going to get through this. Dean is, too."

Cas was at a loss for words for a moment but then he leaned forward to pull Sam into his arms. Sam melted into the hug. Cas was another brother to him and his presence was always reassuring. He meant what he'd said, though. That they'd get Dean back.

**~o~**

One of the first things that happened after Sam was conscious and coherent again was that he was subjected to an interview. Special Agent Vargas was kinder than Henriksen but she was also smarter and more astute.

She entered his room with a small smile, dressed in a pantsuit and ready with her ID. She was a short, middle-aged Latina woman with long, brown curls that ran down her back and Sam could see that she had plenty of experience in the field. The fact that she seemed like she was in more control of herself than Henriksen made Sam realise that she would be harder to deal with.

She had introduced herself the moment she entered. "Special Agent Isabelle Vargas," she said. "I was Special Agent Henriksen's partner."

"I've heard." Sam extended his hand to her. "Sam Winchester."

Her mouth slipped into a half-smile. "I've heard, as well." She took the seat next to his bed, her posture business-like as she reached to draw out a couple of pictures. "Recognise them?"

Sam squinted at the pictures. "They shot me."

"They're dead now."

"I'm aware."

She raised an eyebrow. "Castiel told me you didn't know—"

"No," said Sam. "I did not know what my brother had been doing all this time, but you know, Cas didn't wait for you to break the news. I think he considered it best—and I agree—that I found out about this from family."

"And how did you feel, knowing that Dean is a murderer?"

"I don't remember signing up for therapy, Agent," Sam replied, letting an easy chuckle slip. "My brother is not a murderer, and you should punish the Brady family for this, not mine."

"They're dead, like I said."

"I believe they lived with their father and uncle."

She nodded. "You were roommates with Tyson, the youngest brother, weren't you?"

"Roommates. We dated a while."

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened a tad. Sam cleared his throat. "Your expression tells me you didn't expect that. I didn't take you for a close-minded person, Agent."

"I'm – I'm not," she said. "Why didn't Castiel mention…?"

"He might have done the decent thing and decided to let me talk about my own relationships," said Sam.

It was her time to clear her throat. "Sorry."

"So why isn't the Brady family behind bars yet?"

"We have no evidence against the remaining Bradys," she said. "They haven't done anything. I did speak to you brother-in-law about this, too."

"Oh, please," Sam twirled a loose string from the blanket around his finger. "Trying to kill me was nothing out of the ordinary for them."

"And we have agents attempting to dig into their family—can I call you _Sam_?"

"That's my name."

She seemed to get more comfortable. "We know they might be involved in selling illegal drugs," she said. "But as of now we can't find evidence that the family members alive were related to this case. So let's move on to…" she opened her notepad, "did you not know about Dean at all?"

"No," Sam lied, controlling his urge to ask her more. "I had no idea. I was having a holiday with him and… everything happened too quickly before I could even process any of it."

"You and Castiel were held captive by him. He had Castiel kidnap a federal agent."

"I was told." Sam let out a breath. "I was too out of it so I don't remember. And if he'd held us captive he wouldn't be letting us go like this. I wouldn't be talking to you."

Vargas considered that but didn't comment. "Did you ever suspect him when disappeared with Castiel every three months right around the murders? I can understand that you might have not noticed what happened before he went all exhibitionist, but afterwards, you didn't see a pattern? Have you been following the news?"

Sam smirked. "With all due respect, Agent, that is _your_ job. I don't try to view everyone as criminals. Especially not my family."

"You accompanied them sometimes, correct?"

"I did."

"So when your brother disappeared with Castiel in the evenings…?"

"They liked going out to drink sometimes. I let them have their privacy. I didn't think of it that much."

Vargas looked like she needed a bit to process that. She scribbled something on her pad, eyes scanning Sam once as she looked up, and he couldn't even make out if she believed him. Sam could read gestures and tells in seconds. These were things he was proud of as a lawyer. So if he couldn't tell what she was thinking, he had to give it to her.

There was a long pause. Sam took the time to sip water, staying nonchalant. Vargas examined him thoroughly and he didn't slip. There was no way he was making a mistake when his brother's life and freedom were in danger.

Finally, she seemed to give up. "What about when your father died?" she asked Sam, turning back to her notepad.

"It was a fire."

"Did you know Dean set that one?"

Sam clutched his blankets. Yes, he was aware of the _exact_ events that night. He had been there. Dean did a lot of things but at his core, he was the best person Sam knew. No one could convince him that his brother was a bad person.

Sam looked away, knowing he needed some sympathy now. "Dad wasn't a good person. And he died in an accidental fire, my brother didn't kill him."

"Is that what Dean told you?"

"Yes, and I believe him. Dean was not happy at home. Dad never wanted to take care of me and Dean was the one who raised me."

"Why was your father a bad person? According to you, not Dean."

"I… he didn't treat us well. More Dean than me, actually."

Sam glanced into her eyes, trying to detect sympathy there, but there was none. She seemed to be analysing something. "What about your foster dad? Didn't Dean kill him, too?" she asked.

Even thinking about Banks infuriated Sam, and he had to grit his teeth at Vargas's calmness and complete apathy asking him about it. "He beat me up," he said, remembering Dean pressing that ice pack against his cheek. "He even… he tried to rape me once. He got to Cas, too." That night when Banks had crept over to tug at Sam's pants. Dean punching Banks the next moment.

"And then he just died?"

"Someone broke into the house. Dean found him lying in the basement." Sam remembered turning every chair over and breaking the china and wreaking havoc. He had no regrets about it.

"What about his relationship with Castiel?"

Sam shrugged. "Never seen two people more in love." He snorted. "They're morons."

"Was Castiel happy?"

Sam pursed his lips, staring at a peeling piece of paint on the wall opposite him, trying to look like he was recollecting everything he could about Dean and Cas. "I think so," he said at long last. "I mean, he never looked like he wanted to leave Dean or that anything was bothering him…" He blinked and turned back to the agent. "You think my brother manipulated him in some way?"

"Our psychiatrist believes it's a case of Stockholm Syndrome—"

He scoffed. "Stockholm Syndrome? Cas? _Please_."

"I think it's your turn to open your mind, Sam. Some of the things we spoke to him about are personal, so maybe you can talk to him."

"I will."

Vargas looked at Sam like she believed him a little bit but she still seemed sceptical. "You've had your eyes closed for a long, long time."

"No," said Sam. "I know my brother is a good person. There is nothing he won't do for me. Or Cas."

"Including killing others, apparently."

"Please," Sam snorted. "I know him. And I'm a lawyer. It's my job to read people and make use of it when they stand before me in court. You think I'd miss something like that about my own brother? He would never kill people just like that. I would have known. I would figure it out, okay? Stop thinking Dean killed anyone. He never would." He said it as desperately as he could, with as much conviction as he had.

That softened her. Sam could see the sympathy brimming over, the disbelief at his blind faith and loyalty for Dean. A sense of accomplishment leapt up inside of him.

Vargas took the bait. "Serial killers are a tricky lot," she said, her voice soft. "They're great liars, Sam. It's not your fault for not knowing. You were blinded by affection for Dean and it's understandable. He raised you."

"He's done a lot more than just raise me." Sam turned to the vase of flowers on his nightstand, the truth of just how much Dean had done for him threatening to bubble over in the form of rage. Vargas would never know.

Pressing his lips, he concentrated on the flowers and controlled his urge to ask Vargas to leave. Jess had got him chrysanthemums, a mixture of red and yellow. She always said roses were lame and these were what she'd gotten him when he was in the hospital for his spine injury last year. According to her, they were lucky for his recovery.

Vargas sighed. "I understand that Dean wanted to protect you in every way, but sometimes, some things are still wrong."

"I know, but…"

She stood up, sympathy still occupying her entire demeanour. "I'm going to let you rest now," she said. "Your girlfriend and brother-in-law are eager to see you. Castiel is helping me get Dean into custody."

She thought Cas was going to out Dean to her. That was beautiful. Cas had played his part very well. First with the Stockholm Syndrome, now this.

Sam folded his arms. "Okay. Please don't… don't kill Dean. He is a good person. You just need to meet him. You'll know."

She walked to the door and nodded. "I really want to believe that."

"Will you kill him?"

"If he submits quietly… no. After that… it's up to the judge."

God, he knew they wouldn't hesitate to kill Dean if he put up a fight when they found him, and knowing Dean, he wasn't going to surrender quietly. There was no way Sam was letting that happen; no way he was supporting it. Did Dean even know Sam was well now? Did he know his and Cas's sacrifice had brought Sam back from the brink of death? Of course not. Sam was _so_ going to kick his ass for this.

This was all so fucked up. Why was Dean getting caught in this when the Bradys were the ones who had attacked Sam? They should be in prison, too. He knew that Brady's father and uncle were involved in getting him shot that day, even if they weren't physically present. They needed to be punished, but there was no evidence, and that was what infuriated Sam the most. Even if other agents were truly involved in digging up their crimes, the Bradys were the ones who had pushed his family into this and Sam wanted them punished _now_.

There was a knock at his door, interrupting his thoughts. Sam rested back against his pillows, taking a few calming breaths. "Come in."

The door opened and he saw Jess's smiling face. "Hey," she said.

He grinned back. "Hey."

Jess had been extremely sympathetic, very understanding of the situation and Sam thought she was a good person, too; only, his time to let her go was coming close. Especially now, he didn't need her cooing any more about how his own brother turned out to be a criminal like she'd been doing in the last couple of days. Sam understood she did it because she was genuinely a good person, but he couldn't take it anymore.

He remembered his and Dean's afternoon talking about this and his heart longed for the company of his brother again.

"How're you doing?" Jess sat down on the chair beside Sam's bed.

"I'm good," he said. "Cas taking good care of you?"

"I can take care of myself, but yup." She opened her bag and took out a single yellow tulip for Sam's vase. "Should I change the water in the vase?"

"The flower will survive," said Sam. "And thanks. Where's Cas?"

"Lunch. He's coming in once I go out to eat. He was thrilled when you woke up."

"So you've said a million times in the last three days. And I know. He's been coming in a lot."

She licked her lip. "I know I shouldn't… but I also feel sorry for him, Sam."

"Why?"

"He really misses Dean. I mean, yeah, Dean's a…" she swallowed around the words, "but they were married, and—"

Sam smiled wanly. "Happens when you've loved someone for so long." He fiddled with his blankets. "Did you speak with the doctor?"

Her face brightened as she pushed her curls behind an ear. "I did! They're still letting you go tomorrow. Your reports are good."

"I know." Sam stretched. "I can't wait to get out."

"Neither can I." She leaned over and kissed him and he let her, heart skipping a beat as he kissed her back. He really needed to tell her how he felt.

"I've booked us a hotel room tomorrow and I went shopping for some scented candles," she said, winking. "And it wasn't just candles I bought. Just so you know."

He chuckled. "You didn't have to do that."

She shrugged. "I've missed you, too, and I don't want Cas to see us… you know. I don't wanna have him see us be together while he can't be with Dean."

She was so goddamned thoughtful. "Thank you," Sam said. The magical candle night wasn't happening, though, because he was breaking up with her tomorrow. He made up his mind as he watched her cheeks colour in happiness and anticipation at the prospect of spending alone time with him.

She pushed her hair behind her ears again. "I'm going to go get lunch. You want something?"

"Nah."

"Okay. Can I go ahead?"

He snorted. "Why would you ask me that?"

Jess stood up. "I don't want you to be alone. You know, with everything that's happening…"

"Cas will be here soon, like you said," Sam shrugged. "It's fine."

"It's not that… you guys are testifying against…" She pursed her lips, glancing shiftily at him.

Underneath the blanket, Sam clenched his fists. "My brother would never do that to me, Jess."

Her chuckle was nervous. "Yeah, and… this hospital is probably the last place—"

"Dean will _not_ do that to me." She didn't know even half of it. She didn't know what Dean had sacrificed for him. Sam knew he sounded a little scary right now but he wanted her to leave.

"Sorry," she whispered.

Sam relaxed. "Look, I know what it all seems like to you, but he's never done a single thing to harm me or Cas, okay?"

"I know, but Sam—"

"Let's not talk about it, Jess," said Sam. "I mean, with everything… the news and the FBI…"

"I get it." She leaned over and kissed Sam's cheek. "I'm sorry about Dean."

"I know you are."

"All right." She headed to the door, voice still quiet, "See you."

As he watched her leave, Sam had an idea. Jess was unquestioning and mostly innocent and that was something he really needed right now. She definitely wasn't dumb, though, so he needed to be careful asking her.

He licked his lip. "Hey, Jess?"

She turned back, already in the corridor but poking her head back in. "Yeah?"

"Book me a flight to Montana for tomorrow? I have a meeting in Whitefish."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sam—"

"Please," he said. "I've already missed a lot of clients. My stitches are healing well, I have no infection. I'm good. I won't exert myself. I promise. I can do this one."

"No, Sam."

Dammit. He should have asked Cas. But Cas was worse about this right now. He was taking his task of filling in for Dean very seriously and Sam didn't need to be coddled.

"Jess," he pleaded. "I need to get this shit out of my mind."

"Did your firm put you up to this?" she asked. " _They_ should be booking you that ticket, first of all, not you, and if they're making you go tomorrow…" She clenched her jaw, looking all ready to rage and storm at Sam's colleagues.

"It's research," he said. "There is a hearing a week from now and I was working on the case before this whole fiasco happened. I'd wanted to investigate it. It's for me, okay? I have this hunch and they think I'm stupid for it. That's why they're not paying."

"So you didn't tell them."

"I told them, but they don't think it's important. And this guy—in Montana—he's important. I can see it and just… I need to do something to get my mind off Dean, okay?"

She sighed. "Sam."

"Please? I'd ask Cas but Cas already has a lot to deal with and he's tense all the time. I'll be back in a day."

"Cas will notice you're gone, you know," she pointed out, planting a hand against the open door. "You should tell him if you're concerned of how nervous he's going to be."

"I will. I will, but for tomorrow—"

"You know I can't…"

"Please." His voice dropped to a whisper. He had it in his head now that he needed to see Dean, meet with his brother once and convince him everything was fine. He just needed one fucking day with Dean.

Jess must have noticed the desperation, because she nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah." She looked into his eyes. "If you promise to take care of yourself."

He grinned. "You know I'm the happiest when I'm working… apart from being with you and Dean and Cas, of course," he added hastily.

"Figures," replied Jess, grinning. "For someone who just heard of my plans for tomorrow night, you are ridiculously indifferent to sex."

"I'm not indifferent," he replied. "I'm just taking a rain check." He gave her a pleading look. "I just need this done, Jess."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Okay, Sam Winchester, your puppy-dog eyes win. I'll have that ticket ready for you. But you remember your promise of being careful."

He rolled his eyes. "I have no plans to experience this again. Believe me."

"I believe you." Her words carried more weight than he had anticipated and he felt his heart floating up to his chest, filled with happiness at the prospect of meeting Dean tomorrow.

**~o~**

"Sam, why would you do this?"

Cas was pissed and if he got any angrier, he'd have steam pouring out of his ears. Sam had just been discharged and Cas had been driving him back home when he revealed his plans to Cas. Sam knew he ought to cringe at his brother-in-law's clenched jaw and shining eyes, but he didn't care.

"I need to meet up with him," Sam maintained.

"Yes, and you could expose him for doing that."

"I will be careful, Cas," replied Sam. "Don't stop me. Not you, too."

"I'm stopping you for a good reason." Cas's eyes were on the road as he swallowed. "I've had to say some disgusting lies about your brother—just so I could keep my word."

"I know."

"And do you not respect any of that? Respect that Dean is in hiding for _you_?"

"He also doesn't know that I'm fine now," Sam whispered, staring at his lap, watching slats of sunlight run over him and pass as they drove through quiet streets. "He deserves to know that everything he did—everything _you_ did, for me, is working."

"I wish he could know, too, Sam—"

"I just need to thank him."

"He knows you are thankful. You're brothers. He doesn't need you to confirm such things with him."

"I'd feel better if I did."

There was silence. Cas didn't say anything, mouth shut tightly as he drove and Sam turned away from him to think. He was going to pack his bags the moment he got home. His flight was in a couple of hours. He needed burner phones—those prepaid ones. He could give one to Dean so the FBI wouldn't track them that way.

The car came to a halt before Dean's house and Sam gathered his cane, turning over to Cas, who hadn't moved from his place. His eyes were still stuck straight ahead, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Sam hesitated a moment before putting a hand on Cas's shoulder. "Hey."

Cas didn't respond. He seemed to have frozen right there and Sam wondered if he should shake him, but he didn't need to, for Cas suddenly leaned forward, slumping against the wheel, forehead resting on it. His eyes were shut, his breaths sharp.

Sam sighed. "Cas." He waited another moment before continuing, "I'm gonna go there and kick Dean's butt. Then we're going to get him back."

Cas let out another breath. "I miss him," he said earnestly, sincerely, and Sam gripped his shoulder tighter.

"I know."

Cas surfaced, eyes reflecting pain as he turned to Sam. "If I send something with you, will you give it to Dean?"

Sam clapped his back once. "Of course, man."

"Thank you."

They stayed like that in silence for a bit before they both gathered themselves, for the masks they would have to wear when they faced Jess again. For the promise Cas had made to Dean, to stay safe.

**~o~**

Sam ran into Charlie when he went out to Lowell for the prepaid cells later that day. She was looking at headphones when Sam entered, so her back was turned to him, but he could recognise her anywhere. Ideally and on any other day he would have loved to speak to her, but not right now. He wanted her not to see what he was about to do.

If he made casual conversation with her and ensured she was out of the store before he bought the phones, he'd be at less risk.

He walked over and tapped her shoulder. Charlie flinched but her face broke into a huge grin when she saw him. "Sam!"

"Hey!" He let her hug him and hugged her back. "How're you doing?"

"Not bad," she said, standing back. "You?"

"I'm out of the hospital," he said, shrugging, "so okay, I guess."

"Saw that on the news." The grin vanished. "I'm so sorry, Sam."

He cleared his throat, pushing his hair back. "It's uh, it's fine, Charlie, thank you."

"Dean, he seemed like such a nice guy, you know," she said, eyeing the store owner as she lowered her voice. "He was great with me."

"Me, too." Sam chuckled. "He is still—he didn't have anything against you, or—"

"I know that." She put her hand on his forearm. "Plus, if he intended to end us, I wouldn't be talking to you here, right?" She laughed nervously.

"He would never think of doing that to you," said Sam, and Charlie stopped laughing.

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

She nodded. "I believe you, then." There was a moment of quiet as she reached for her headphones and showed them to the shopkeeper before putting them on the counter for billing.

"I gotta go," she told Sam. "Take care. Tell Cas I said hi and give him a kiss from me."

"I'll say hi," Sam said, chuckling, "not sure I'll be kissing him, though."

She rolled her eyes as she stood on tiptoe to throw her arms around his neck and pull him forward to peck his cheek. "I love you. All you guys," she said. "No matter what the headlines say about Dean."

Sam didn't quite know what to say. "Thank you," he whispered back.

"You're a dork, just like Dean says." She grabbed her bag from the counter and gave Sam the Vulcan salute. "See ya later, bitch."

He waved at her, part sad and part relieved as she exited the shop. "Bye, Charlie."

He hadn't known many good people in his life, but he knew Charlie was one of them and Sam was extremely thankful for her. She was a great person and part of him was glad she wasn't working in Dean's diner anymore. That she was not involved in his family drama. Even if it meant they couldn't run the joint now for lack of replacements for her and Kevin.

She was better off far away from all this.

**o**

**-Then-**

Cas had a box of all of Dean's letters back to him. Dean, unlike Cas, wasn't very elaborate. He wrote short things, explained what was going on, and added a couple of pictures of him and Sam. Cas didn't expect, or even want, more from Dean. He preferred and loved Dean for how he was, from before Bobby died, and then after, when Dean asked Cas to join him on his hunts. The letters had, obviously, stopped after Cas graduated and moved in with Dean. They'd stayed in South Dakota for the next few years, Dean fixing cars and Cas doing freelance magazine work while trying to get published. They saw Sam off to Stanford and Cas had never felt more pride for anyone in his life. When Sam was in his third year of pre-law, Dean took Maureen's advice and opened a diner. But, since he wanted badly to change things around in life, they moved to Tyngsborough after Dean had read up about the smallest, least heard-of towns they could be in.

Living with Dean had been difficult and beautiful and worth it. They woke up curled in each other's arms and Cas could never stop marvelling at the feel of Dean pressed against him, warm and naked. Sometimes in the mornings Dean would wake him up with kisses, fingers running all over Cas as Cas left half-moon indentations on Dean's back from gripping tight, gasping and grunting in pleasure, their heartbeats and breaths frantic and working as one.

Sometimes, Cas joined Dean in the shower or caught him in the kitchen, or let Dean brace him against walls to snatch kisses. They'd watch TV together and Dean would let Cas cuddle him on the cold evenings underneath big blankets. When they fought they always made up and when they went on their hunts, they always knew to have fun.

Stalking their game was the best bit. It was good to see how these horrible people were so easy to catch, stupid and unsuspecting as they were. Carving into their skin gave Cas relief. Like he'd been avenged. Like every time they did it, they got what they deserved from the world. Watching Dean work, working with him, everything was a pleasure. It was never hurried; it never needed to be stealthy. Their tracks were always covered.

Most of all, the one thing Cas would never forget was the day he'd finished a hunt, only to arrive home to one of the biggest and best moments of his life. They'd eliminated Henry Ericson today; he worked for a drug lord, and was involved in killing several innocents. They'd tracked him and his colleagues, and they had a plan of eliminating them all, but working towards it slowly so the police wouldn't make a connection.

It had been so good to see that vile, horrible man beg for his life. So good to carve into his flesh, Dean grinning alongside him, taunting the man, leaning in occasionally for a kiss. They took their time; no one was going to look for this man a while. In the end, like always, ever since he'd avenged Bobby, Dean asked Cas to go wait in the car as he took the heart out. Cas cleaned up, waited, and read a book and Dean emerged in a bit, all bright smiles and a wink and gestured to Cas to help him bury the body.

It took a while to do that, like always. They wanted to make sure no one found the body, not even accidentally, and for that, the grave had to be perfect, so they dug on and on until it was. They were sweaty when they finished the whole job and it was way past dinnertime. Finally, when they'd replaced the last of the soil, Dean held his spade in one hand, wiped the sweat off his brow, and linked arms with Cas to walk back to their car.

They put their gear in the trunk and Cas made himself comfortable in the car again, waiting for Dean to put some of his knives back in. When he came and sat in the driver's seat, Cas shut his eyes and breathed in the familiar, comforting smell of blood when he leaned over to kiss Dean. This felt amazing.

"That was so good," he remarked against Dean's lips. "I can't wait to start working on our next hunt."

"I know," Dean replied. "Me either." He looked extra-happy today. "I'm gonna drop you back at the motel and get us grub. That good?"

"Sure," said Cas. "And we need to call Sam. We haven't yet today."

"We'll do it once I get dinner," said Dean. "Talking to assholes makes me hungry."

Cas shook his head. "He deserved it."

"Tell me about it. He got some kids killed. Not cool." Dean pulled out in reverse, squinting through the back windshield. He turned into a dirt lane and soon the lone, rundown cabin and the newly-dug grave were in the rearview mirror and Cas was enjoying the aftereffects of his adrenaline rush. An hour later they were back at the motel. Dean dropped Cas at their doorstep and said he'd be back with food and Cas kissed him again. "Get back soon, I'm hungry."

"As soon as I can," Dean promised. The twinkle in his eyes made Cas extremely happy and he watched the Impala disappear into the distance before making his way into the room. When he switched on the lights, he realised there was something on their bed. It looked like a card from where he was standing.

Frowning, Cas slowly made his way to the bed and picked up the item. It was really a card, and it was plain, except, there was writing when he opened it. Dean's writing. Something fell out onto the mattress and Cas's heart skipped a beat at the scrawl.

_Marry me._

He looked down to see a ring, a plain silver ring on the sheets, and then felt a presence at the door. When Cas turned, Dean was walking towards him, smiling, and Cas couldn't help but blink as Dean placed a soft kiss on his lips and went down on one knee.

'Well?" he asked, and he looked too calm and confident to be doing something like this; just like the man Cas loved.

Cas took Dean's hand. "Yes."


	10. The Sleuth

**Nine: The Sleuth**

Charlie trudged into her little apartment, tired as all hell and in no mood to finish any more assignments for tomorrow. Final exams were coming close and she hadn't even started to study. She'd been working at an ice cream parlour as of late and her boss was not nearly as good as Dean. It really got her thinking sometimes about how weird people could be, that she honestly thought a serial killer had a bigger heart than most people she'd met.

She shuddered at that thought. As sad as she'd been to leave Dean's diner, she knew it had been necessary. It made her morose and horrified to think that the _Creature_ , that glamourised, feared serial killer, had been _Dean_ of all people. She wished it hadn't been that way. She wished she were coming back from a fun day at the diner.

Charlie's roommate, Emily, was home visiting family. Kevin had said he'd come over later on. He was always so psyched about all the assignments Charlie had to do. He was looking forward to starting his term soon, but it could never be soon enough. His mom was out on a business trip and apparently this was the perfect weekend for him. Anyway, he'd called an hour ago that he'd take a bit to get to her place.

Relieved that she could be alone for a while, Charlie threw her bag onto her small armchair and pushed her hair out of her eyes as she started to strip. Her boots were off first, followed by her hoodie, her tank, and she was stomping her jeans away, unhooking her bra when she reached for comfier clothes that were lying on her bed. Nothing was better than a loose t-shirt and sweats, she thought, as she pulled them all on. Plus the lack of a boob cage was just—

Something wet and heavy fell against her when she opened the closet. Shocked, Charlie leapt back. Her eyes fell on the figure slumped to the floor. Her eyes widened.

"OH MY—"

A hand gripped her mouth and muffled her voice, silver knife against her throat. "I'm sorry, doll," said a hoarse whisper in her ear, "but it has to be you."

The last thing Charlie saw before she met blackness was Kevin's dead and staring eyes. The last thing she felt was his thick blood on her body and her assailant's hand against her mouth. Then—sharp pain… and nothing.

**~o~**

When there was a knock on Dean's door, he couldn't help but feel anxious. He'd been following the news channels closely and everyone was hot on his ass. Cas had acted exactly as Dean asked him to, and so had Sam and he was happy they were safe. He knew there was a possibility the FBI would find him someday, but he wasn't prepared for it to happen today. That meant he was slacking and needed to be better at this and fuck, he really needed to be more alert, didn't he?

He'd been climbing the walls with no visitors, nothing to do, and a constant need to keep tabs on how close those assholes were to finding him, so if he had missed something and they _had_ found him, he wondered if he would finally be relieved about it.

Then he gave up on that thought because, fuck no, there was no way he was rotting in prison.

So when he took out his gun and peeked out of his curtain, his heart jumped. Because standing outside, looking like he'd just stepped out of a hospital and pale as all hell, was Dean's gigantor of a brother. _Oh, Sammy_. Chest filling with happiness, confusion, and anger (what the fuck, Sam, you could land in trouble, dude), Dean was at the door, opening it, only to be swallowed by Sasquatch arms.

He promptly stumbled back two steps, but continued to hug Sam. "Ugh, you idiot, you stink."

Sam buried his face in Dean's shoulder. " _You_ stink."

Dean broke apart. "I just had a shower, so I know you're lying. Why are you here?" he asked, moving on to shut the door behind Sam.

"Really?!" Sam asked him, putting his bags down, and then his cane. "Is that what you're gonna say to a person who almost died and come back only to meet your stupid ass?"

"I knew you weren't dead. I was following the news. And I'm not stupid."

"Yeah, you are," Sam huffed. "Or do you prefer _martyr_? Makes you feel better about it?"

"Shut up." Dean looked around the small cabin he was now starting to get seriously annoyed by. Sam's presence seemed to have brightened everything up and so Dean kinda liked being here more right now. At least for a short while.

He shook those thoughts away and cleared the sofa for his brother, balling up all the junk food wrappers before tossing them into the trash. Sam made a face, but didn't say anything. "So you come to vacation here, or…?"

"I'm here for a day," said Sam as he sat down on the now-clean couch with a grateful sigh. "I need to leave tomorrow."

"Oh." Dean's heart sank. He wasn't looking forward to stare at the dank walls again.

"Cas sent you something, though." Sam reached for his laptop bag and stuffed his hand into a side pocket before extracting an envelope. He held it out to Dean. "Here."

Dean took a moment just eyeing it and recognising the sentiment behind Cas sending it. His heart started to beat fast in his chest. Numbly, he reached forward to take it and tried to ignore his brother's concerned expression. "How is he?"

Sam didn't reply for a minute. "The truth?"

Dean considered it. "No…" It came out as a whisper.

Sam nodded. "He's fine, Dean. He's doing great."

Something horrible and slimy slid into Dean's stomach. He had to turn away from his brother as he pocketed the letter and walked to the kitchen, trying not to think, or really, to think of _anything_ but this. He'd read the letter when Sam was asleep. "Can I fix you some dinner?" he asked his brother. "You must be tired."

"Sure." Sam seemed to understand, but of course he always did, and Dean smiled to himself.

He pulled out the chicken he'd left to thaw, trying to decide whether to have it roasted or fried as Sam got up from the sofa and lingered behind him, watching. Just when Dean had settled on fried and reached for the spices he'd raided out of a grocery just last week, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I will fix this for you," said Sam in a low voice. "I'm going to help you out of this. I won't let you fall, Dean. You're gonna see Cas again."

Dean nodded silently, knowing his brother meant every word it.

**~o~**

Jess fingered her phone, locking and unlocking it as she thought of Sam. He had called her a couple of times about wrapping up his case tomorrow but she wasn't so sure now that she had done right by booking his ticket to Montana. Sure, stubborn as he was, he would have just booked it for himself later on and he'd even insisted quite a bit—Jess didn't like to be controlling, just as much as she didn't like Sam controlling her. They were equals and they respected that. So she'd not argued too much when he didn't seem to want to budge.

Then again, he had almost died not ten days ago, he had been taken captive by his brother (and was in denial about that) and he really needed a break from it all. Maybe he thought he didn't, but Jess knew Sam, and she knew he didn't do well with stress. Burying himself in work, whether it was related to college or otherwise, was his way of dealing with bad things.

She battled with herself over whether she wanted to do it, and after a few minutes of pondering, decided not to call Sam's office. She'd talk to him when he got back home tomorrow. Doing this felt like she was going behind his back and she wanted it to be anything but that. In Sam's world of hurt and betrayal, she did not want to be another reason for him to feel awful.

Hoping this was the right decision Jess put her phone away and went downstairs to help Cas set the dinner table.

**~o~**

One day with Sam went by too damn quickly. Dean didn't waste even a minute, though. He led Sam to the clearing in the woods behind the cabin where he'd stashed Baby and Sam had looked at him with a sparkle in his eyes, grinning as he snatched a bottle of beer from the case that Dean had carried along. They talked until their voices got raspy and sat on the hood of the Impala, looking at stars and drinking beers. The woods were quiet except for the chirping of crickets and there was a cool breeze blowing at them. It would have been the perfect evening to spend in each other's company, had Dean not been ardently missing Cas and had that horrible feeling in his stomach about not wanting to say goodbye to Sam tomorrow.

"Did you tell her?" Dean asked Sam. "Jess?"

"She knows I'm here."

"Sam—"

"I told her I'm seeing a client," Sam replied before Dean could freak out. "She thinks I'm in this… huge trap of denial and stress because of you."

"She's not gonna find out about me being here, right?"

"No," Sam replied. "If she suspects… I'll talk to her."

"And… did you talk… about the other thing?"

Sam breathed out quietly. "Not yet."

"You gotta tell her, Sammy."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I am. Tomorrow, actually."

"And – and…" Dean swallowed, "honestly, this time, how's Cas?"

Sam turned to him, face half-lit by moonlight, expression unreadable. "Did you read his letter?"

"I will."

"He…" Sam nodded. "He misses you. He's not okay with saying the stuff you asked him to talk about to stay out of prison…"

"As long as you two are okay, man," Dean shrugged. "There's no going back for me. I ain't taking that from you."

"I know, Dean, but—"

"If you're gonna tell me this was a bad idea, Sammy," said Dean, blinking slowly at the dark blue sky, "then I ain't listening. I don't have regrets, okay?"

"Dean…"

"I would die for you two. No regrets."

"I know," Sam seemed to hug himself as he muttered, "it's not fair."

Dean peeled at the label on his beer, contemplating Sam, who was staring into a far-off point, then reached for his brother, a hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be fine."

Sam sniffed, chuckling quietly. "You're an idiot."

Dean didn't reply to that. They finished their beers and headed back to the cabin with too many things on their minds. Neither of them could sleep, although Dean wouldn't have any of that crap, and he made goddamned sure Sam got his rest. He lay on his bunk alone and thinking, reading and rereading Cas's letter while listening to his brother's soothing snores.

 _Dean,_ Cas wrote, _I hope you are doing well. I love you._

It was signed with a simple _C_ , just like the times before, but different from then because Cas hadn't written like he used to. It wasn't long or sweeping or poetic or any of the things that it used to be. Cas didn't seem to have any words for Dean anymore.

Heart growing heavy, Dean stuck the letter under his pillow and willed his mind to shut down; get a few hours of rest. It didn't, however, and all he could do was stare at the worn wooden wall, listen to Sam sleep, and take his happiness from it.

**~o~**

By morning, Jess had made her decision. She got out of bed at her alarm, checked for messages from Sam, and then proceeded to brush her teeth. As she spat frothy toothpaste into the sink, she thought of everything she'd battled last night, meditating over what she wanted to do about Sam's situation and had come to the conclusion that requesting his colleagues to keep him off the hook for a while was not a wrong thing to do.

When she'd washed her face, she unlocked her phone again and scrolled through the contacts. She knew Sam wouldn't approve of this; that he would possibly get angry, but she wasn't comfortable with him having to work so soon and Sam often didn't ask for help even when he needed it, only to realise later on that it had all come back to bite him in his ass. He was at a delicate point in his life now, and Jess didn't think they needed to experiment with how this was going to work out for him.

So she finally hit Sam's office on the contacts and put the phone to her ear. A man, Sam's boss, took her call.

 _"_ _Hello?"_

"Hey, Danny, this is Jess."

 _"_ _Jess?"_

"Sam's girlfriend."

 _"_ _Oh. Oh! Oh wow, Jess, how's Sam? The news channels and papers—"_

"He's doing okay now," she said, "and yeah, quite a bit on the news, too. Hey, I just called to request something—can you do me a favour, if you don't mind?"

 _"_ _Go ahead."_

"Sam's—you know, he's been in the hospital and he's a big workaholic so he's not going to tell you he's tired. So just maybe shift his cases to someone else for a bit? He's not gonna talk to any of us until he crashes and burns and you know what it's like right now."

 _"_ _Yeah, cool, we spoke about that, too. Sam doesn't have any cases, don't worry."_

"No, he's in Montana right now for you. Talking to a client."

 _"_ _We called him, Jess, we told him not to go. That isn't his client anymore. Did he still go?"_

"Yeah, he's in Whitefish." Jess ran her hand through her hair, exasperated. "Jesus, I wish I'd talked to you before…"

 _"_ _Whitefish?"_

"Yeah."

Danny sounded confused. _"We don't have any clients there."_

"What?" Jess felt like someone had dropped a rock into her stomach.

 _"_ _We don't have a client in Whitefish. Sure, we do have a couple in Montana, one was Sam's case in…"_ He trailed off into the background and Jess could feel sweat build up on her brow. Sam had lied to her. Why had Sam lied to her about this? Was… was Dean in Whitefish? How did Sam even know about that?

 _"_ _Are you still there?"_ Danny's voice reached her through the speaker and Jess took a moment to compose herself. _"Is Sam in Whitefish?"_

"Yeah, I'm here," she said, "And you know what, I think I misheard him. He's… he's probably not in Whitefish after all. I'm going to have to call him now so—"

 _"_ _Sure."_

Jess ended the call and put the phone down, shock infiltrating every inch of her being. She had lied so Danny wouldn't be suspicious but Sam was most definitely in Whitefish. Or had he driven elsewhere after having her book tickets to Whitefish? What was going on? Was this… was this about _Dean_?

She knew he missed Dean and she knew he'd been distressed and shocked to hear about Dean but he wouldn't go running to meet him murderer brother, would he? Plus how would he know where Dean was?

This was… this couldn't be. Sam _definitely_ had no idea where Dean was. Jess had been with him two years now and he wasn't that good a liar. He hadn't even known what Dean was up to… how could he…?

No, no, there had to be something wrong here. He wouldn't lie to her like that. She just needed to talk to Cas. Sam wouldn't lie like that.

Would he?

**~o~**

It was dank and quiet in the cabin again when Sam was leaving, the air settling down like something horrible had happened. Dean already dreaded coming back to this. Letting Cas go and having Sam back only for a day were the two times he'd had regrets about killing those two assholes. The only two times.

Anyway. It was too late now to think about it.

Dean pulled out his Impala keys and took Sam's bags, trying not to think that this might be the last time he would see Sam. They walked out, Dean squinting into the sunny afternoon and the perfectly normal world around them, which didn't seem to care that he was going to be fucking miserable again. "I'm going to drop you by the airport," he said.

"Dean, you could be seen."

Dean could barely find it in him to smile. "Don't worry about me, dude, I've been surviving here without being seen for a while now. Dropping you there ain't changing anything."

Sam looked into Dean's eyes and took only a moment to read him. "I know it's crappy here, man," he said. "You know I'm—"

"Yeah. I know you're gonna make goddamned sure I get back. And hey, you can call me now with that phone. At least for a bit." Dean tried to put a positive spin on it, tried to pretend it was going to be fine despite the small tug in his belly.

"I'll call you," said Sam. "I put Cas's number in your phone, too. I'll text him that it's safe to call."

"Cool. Just… be careful, okay?"

"Yeah, I will, Dean. You know I will."

"Come on, I'll drive you."

"Cas gave you that letter. You don't wanna say something?" Sam asked him.

"Sure. Tell him I said hi."

"Dean…"

"I'll drive you to the airport." He refused to talk about it more.

They seated themselves in the Impala, Sam leaning against the glass on the passenger side. It felt like an eternity since they'd done this, even though it had not even been two weeks since they drove to South Dakota. So much had happened between then and now and neither of them had much to say. The rest of their drive was filled with silence. Morose, but peaceful silence. When Dean stopped his car at a secluded spot behind the airport Sam reached to hug his brother one last time.

Dean returned the hug, cupping his neck. "Take care," he said.

"I will."

**~o~**

"Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Cas looked up from his book to see Jessica at the door, and put the novel down. "Of course," he said, and when he noticed the worry on her face, added, "Is anything the matter?" The sheets ruffled as he adjusted himself.

She looked unsure as she crossed the threshold and took a seat in the chair at the window. "I…" She bit her lip, clenching and unclenching her fists.

"Jessica, what's wrong?" God knew, Cas had his own set of worries for now, but he rather liked Jessica, and her distress made him think of his own.

"Cas…" She looked like she didn't know how to begin. "Did… did Sam tell you where he went?"

Cas wondered if Dean had received his letter as he shook his head. "I don't know all the details," he replied. "He said he has to work in Montana."

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I called his colleague."

Oh. Oh, no. Why would she do that? Cas straightened up, alert and trying to look nonchalant as a million questions ran through his mind. "Okay," he said, maintaining the neutral tone of his voice. "So?"

"Sam doesn't have a client in Montana. At least, not in Whitefish." Their eyes met, her glance meaningful. "And yet, he's there right now."

This was going downhill too soon. Cas tried to take a deep breath, willed himself not to react as he shrugged lightly. "Maybe he had something personal he wanted to handle."

"Something that he told neither of us about?"

"He and Dean have things in their life that neither you, nor I, will never know of, Jessica. _Personal_ matters. Maybe he had something to sort out regarding their father or guardian or a foster parent." Cas looked up at her, narrowing his eyes, willing her to challenge him. "You know that is a sensitive topic. Even Dean was not willing to talk to me about their childhood, and this is after I've courted him nine years and have been married to him for longer than your relationship with Sam."

"Why would he _lie_ saying it was a case?"

"Is he obligated to be truthful about every action of his?"

"No, but this is a _huge_ lie, Cas. Especially with everything that's going on."

He swallowed. _Dammit, Sam_. "Well," he said, "I know for a fact that Bobby's close friend, Rufus Turner, lives in Whitefish. They visit him sometimes even now. I should guess he is there." Rufus had been dead for years.

"Why didn't he just say so?"

"Probably because he is distressed and suffocated here and needs some space from us for a bit."

She didn't seem to buy it. "And you know this… this Rufus lives in Whitefish and you still believed Sam when he told you it was a case."

"I believed it, yes. It is possible for a case to be in the same town as Rufus. Plus I did not know that it was specifically in Whitefish."

She blinked, and Cas knew he was running out of options here. She did not believe a word of what he had just said.

"Cas," she sighed, at long last, "I gotta ask."

"What?" He was dreading the question.

"Do you… do you know where Dean is?"

"No." He had been great at lying once, but now his heart raced. The FBI was watching them too closely. He couldn't risk a slip-up, even with Jessica.

She didn't look like she believed him. "Honestly? Please?"

He nodded. "Yes. I am not lying about this. I don't know where Dean is."

"Please don't protect him. You and Sam, you know what the FBI said—"

He breathed out, the anger rising in him quicker than he could think. "I know," he said, and then dragged on slowly, emphasising his words and wishing she would stop talking, "I know, Jessica, that Sam and I perhaps possess some bias for a man who loves us unconditionally and I know what Stockholm Syndrome is. Please don't make us out to be criminals."

"Sorry."

"Please leave." Cas covered his face. Dean needed to get out of that cabin and Cas could only alert him if Jessica let him be alone. If she saw the temporary phone Dean could, in no way, be alerted that he needed to change hiding places. This was messed up. They'd messed up too much.

"So Dean could be in Whitefish, right?" Jessica had gotten up and crossed over to the door to heed to Cas's wishes. "Just tell me that, Cas, and then I'll leave you alone. Could he?"

"I fail to see why Sam would go meet a wanted criminal, and if he was doing that, give you the exact location of said criminal." There was no way Cas was saying yes to that. He was going to be very angry at Sam when he came home. Jessica was a sharp, intelligent girl, they all knew that, and Sam should have known better than to blunder like this.

Jessica pursed her lips. "That's all I needed to know." She paused for a moment. "And I'm sorry. I know you're really hurting about Dean and I shouldn't have…"

"I just need to be alone," he replied, and she respected that immediately. He would have really appreciated her kindness and thoughtfulness had he not been extremely anxious. He let her exit the room, pulling off his calm mask the moment she was gone and diving for his burner phone. He needed to reach Dean. There was no way his husband could escape the police in time if he didn't know, because there was no way that Jessica was keeping silent about this.

**~o~**

The drive back from the airport was worse than anything Dean had experienced in his life. Sam's surprise visit had been the best fucking thing all month and now he was expected to live like a hermit again, waiting for these assholes to get off his back. He didn't want more of this but he didn't want to surrender, either. He hated that the fuck-up was not something he could fix by killing someone else.

Gritting his teeth so he wouldn't pity himself anymore, Dean continued his drive. He was already halfway back, not thinking about anything but TV and some sleep to make up for last night, when his new phone began to ring. Wondering why Sam was calling him, Dean squinted at the number and grinned when he saw the name. He parked the car over the shoulder immediately, ducking his head so no one passing by would recognise him, and picked up the phone. "Hey, sexy, long time."

" _Dean_." Cas sounded scared and _God_ , it was so good to hear his voice, to listen to him, but he didn't sound good.

Dean frowned. "What happened?"

" _You need to leave that cabin_ now _. Jessica just came to meet me and she's called Sam's colleague and—"_

"Whoa," said Dean, "calm down. Slowly."

 _"_ _I cannot calm down!"_ Cas interjected, and Dean realised he was downright yelling it out. _"Jessica is going to tell the police that you're in Whitefish!"_

"How does she know?"

 _"_ _She called Sam's colleague. She found out that there is no client. She even spoke to me about it and I told her I didn't know."_

"Fuck!" Dean pulled back into the road because he was almost home and he needed to leave and screw traffic rules.

 _"_ _Yes, exactly,"_ said Cas.

"Where am I gonna go, Cas?"

 _"_ _I will look that up,"_ his husband replied, _"and I'll contact you. Don't worry."_

Dean took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, I'll just go get my things and hit the road then."

 _"_ _Yes, that will be good."_

"What direction do I head to?"

 _"_ _Just start out, Dean, any direction that's not towards Tyngsborough. Give me ten minutes so I can tell you definitively before you're out of town."_

"Okay. Okay." Dean drove at double speed, heart lightening when he saw the by-lane that would lead to a dirt road, and eventually his cabin. This was a clusterfuck. This was a fucking clusterfuck and _what the hell, Sammy?_ Why hadn't he thought about this more? "Cas," he said, "I need to put the phone down now. The FBI could track us like this."

 _"_ _They couldn't have gotten a hold on these phones so quickly, but I will get back to you. We have a while with these. That's what Sam said."_

"I know."

 _"_ _It's going to be fine,"_ said Cas, sensing Dean's tension. Dean could hear him clicking away at his laptop in the background.

"Yeah," he said.

 _"_ _Sam and I will not let them get to you this easy."_

Dean smiled _._ "Thanks, Cas." Cas gave him a grunt of acknowledgement, seemingly already working on Dean's next hideout, before ending the call. Convincing himself that he'd hear Cas again soon, Dean put his own phone down.

At long last he pulled into the cabin and rushed to the entrance, jamming the key into the lock. Cas would call back any moment now and—

He stumbled when he tried to move closer to open the door. He looked down, heart jumping when he saw a big cardboard box. It had no labels on it.

How had he not seen this? Had Sam left it? He would have said something, right?

Okay, this wasn't good. Who knew he was here, apart from Sam and Cas and now Jess? The FBI couldn't reach him this soon, could they?

Mustering up his courage, Dean bent over and picked the box up. It was big, damp, and hefty, with something clinking inside heavily when he tried to shake it. He scrunched his nose at the familiar smell of formalin that seemed to come off it and was immediately alert at that.

Taking a deep breath, Dean opened the box, and almost fell back when he did.

There were two mason jars. He had just left Sam at the airport and spoken to Cas so – so…

His hands shook as he drew them out, two jars, one by one, an unexpected wave of nausea rising in him when he saw what it was.

The jars held two human hearts, but that wasn't what troubled Dean. It was the blue ribbons on them, tied around the lids neatly, like they were a gift. And the labels. A piece of paper stuck on to each jar.

_Charlie Bradbury_

_Kevin Tran_

**o**

**-Then-**

Dean and Cas's wedding was a small event by the lake and just the way they wanted it to be. Dean was psyched all morning, ready to see Cas in his sexy wedding attire and even more ready to take the whole thing off his _husband_ —as Cas would finally become later today—piece-by-piece. He was totally prepared for this. He rolled up his sleeves, grinning as he thought about it and pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

The pants were grey, as was his waistcoat, underneath which he was wearing a black shirt. All his own selection. He was proud.

Sam came for him a minute later, took a look at Dean, and raised an eyebrow. "You don't look too ugly in that vest."

Dean squinted at Sam's own semi-formal attire before he glared. "Yeah, well, you're the same as always, bitch."

"Jerk."

"All ready?" Dean asked his brother.

"The minister and Cas, yes. Come on." Sam held out his arm.

Dean felt warmth rush up his face. "Shut up, Sam."

"I told you I'd be giving you away. Don't be an idiot."

"Freak," Dean muttered under his breath, before placing his hand on Sam's arm. The warmth at the gesture made him smile, but he decided he'd forever be bitching to Sam about it anyway.

"Ready?" Sam whispered a moment later.

Dean smirked. "Fuck yeah."

They exited the little cabin they'd rented, the lake coming into view immediately. The air was crisp, pleasant, trees laden with red, yellow, and orange leaves, some on the ground, crunching underneath their shoes. There were only two guests: Maureen and Jess, apart from the minister. And then. And then there was Cas.

Dean found himself involuntarily gripping at the fabric of Sam's blazer. Cas was standing there, hands behind his back and a smile on his face. He had a blue shirt on underneath a pale brown full-sleeved sweater, with a black tie. His eyes sparkled, hair delicately dishevelled, and Dean wanted to reach right across and do things to him to make that hair unrulier. Damn, he was _hot_.

Dean could barely remember what happened from then on. He recollected the vows, holding Cas's hands, and watching the sunset… posing for a picture with their ring fingers sticking out, and then home and their room and bedcovers twisting under Cas's fists as Dean kissed him, their wedding attire strewn everywhere, dark bruises on Dean's neck and the cry of each other's names from both their mouths.

Later, Dean undraped himself from around Cas as he remembered something. Cas, who had been sleeping, stirred. "Dean?"

"I got you a gift," Dean told him, getting off the bed as gently as he could. He winced at the soreness catching up with him. _Yeaaah_ , that had been good.

"Dean…?"

"Hang on, Cas."

Cas turned, rubbed his eyes, and propped himself up on one elbow. "You didn't have to get me anything."

Dean leaned against the closet and winked. "But I did." He opened the door and reached for the gift-wrapped box he'd hidden inside, feeling Cas's eyes on him. Then he walked over and put it on the bed for his husband to open before taking his place behind Cas.

"Thank you," Cas whispered as he started to unwrap the fancy paper. Dean crossed his arms and watched Cas meticulously remove the tape and the paper in one piece, folding in the sticky bits and squaring the wrapping before putting it aside. Normally, Dean would have huffed at this but tonight he just felt good watching his husband.

Cas finally opened the box and reached in to pull out a jar with a blue ribbon around the lid. "What is this—?" His jaw dropped a little when he saw it.

It was a preserved specimen, a heart, and when Cas read the label on it, his eyes widened. "Henry Ericson?"

"We got engaged that day, remember?" Dean asked him.

"Of course – of course I do, Dean, I—"

"I want to do this for everyone now," Dean said, resting his chin on Cas's shoulder. "To remember how much fun we have."

Cas turned around and planted a quick kiss on Dean's cheek. "You know I don't need a reminder of that."

"Yeah, but," Dean pressed his lips together. "This is our thing, you know? And… I never want to forget about that. I want something to look at when we think of our hunts."

Cas nodded. "I love it. Thank you." He rested his temple briefly against Dean's forehead before kissing him.

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and pressed himself closer to his husband's back, putting his cheek on his shoulder. "Cas," he said, "we're fucking married."

"I know," Cas replied. He halted for a moment. "I love you."

"Me, too."


	11. The Heartbreaker

**Ten: The Heartbreaker**

Dean was frozen for what felt like hours.

He didn't understand. The jars, the hearts, and… the labels. The Bradys. It had to be them. But how did they know about this? Had those assholes been to Dean's house? How had they found out? How had they followed Dean to this cabin?

A bird squawked somewhere, breaching the silence in the air and the disbelief and fear in Dean's head. He was staring down at the hearts of the two kids he cared most about, of the girl who was like a sister to him and a boy who had the world at his feet. It was like some weird form of karma, everything he'd done coming back to him, but those bastards, the ones he had killed, had deserved it. Charlie and Kevin, though, what had they ever done to anyone?

He was going to get back at those fuckers for this. They didn't get to do this. They didn't get to rip apart the people Dean cared about. He wasn't sitting quiet now. No fucking way.

Before he knew it he was calling Cas, phone at his ear, hands stinking of dried blood and formalin and stomach back flipping like it never had before at the mere sight of the jars. Cas picked up after three rings.

 _"_ _Dean?"_

"I'm coming back there."

There was a sharp breath. _"What happened?"_

"They killed Charlie. And Kevin." Dean felt numb as he said it, numb and dead and he wanted to rage and storm and break something but he couldn't seem to move enough for it.

 _"_ _The Bradys?"_

"Who else do you think?" The intense anger was back and Dean got up from his kneeling position, slamming his fist against the wooden cabin wall. "Shit. Shit. Should have realised those two assholes weren't the last of them!"

 _"_ _Dean, please don't come here."_

"Cas, I need to do this. They've gone too far."

 _"_ _Dean. Dean!"_

Before Cas could continue, Dean had cut his call. There was no way he was reasoning with Cas about this crap. Once and for all, the Bradys were going to be _dead_.

**~o~**

Jess was at the airport to pick Sam up and it took one look at her face to know that she'd probably already spoken to the FBI. Cas had messaged him at the airport before he left Montana and he'd been thinking of excuses all the way back. Finally, he'd decided to pretend to be oblivious to whatever bothered her.

Jess did not smile or even talk when she saw Sam, and Sam did the same. She helped him with his bags and he limped after her, watching her stiffly walk away. They got into Cas's car in silence and she started to drive, still wordless. A few minutes later he had just rested his cane against his thigh when she spoke up. "So how was Whitefish?"

"Good."

"Meeting go well?"

"Yes."

"Did he say he was going to murder more people? And that you should just say nothing about it?"

Sam turned, squinting at Jess, pretending she didn't make sense to him. "What are you talking about?"

She gave him a cold look. "I know you went to visit Dean."

"No, Jess, I—"

"Don't _lie_. I talked to Danny."

Sam frowned. "Danny?"

"I wanted to tell them to let you rest a while. I thought it was unfair you were already working a case. Turned out," she sighed, "it wasn't a case. How long have you been lying about this, Sam? Since when did you know about Dean?"

Sam was not about to answer that. He folded his arms. "You decided to spy on me?"

She glared at him. "I wasn't spying, okay? I just wanted you to get better."

"Who told you that was your responsibility?"

"You're my boyfriend!"

Sam clenched his fists. "So?"

"So? I can't take care of you a little bit?"

He rolled his eyes and relaxed against his seat. "Just stop, okay? Stop with this."

"Stop with what?"

"All your coddling! That's all you've been doing ever since I fucking woke up! I'm a grown man, Jess."

"So you're going to put this crap on me? You went to meet Dean because my _coddling_ was too much?" Her anger was evident in her voice, and Sam would recoil if he didn't have bigger things to worry about. Jess rarely got pissed like this. But, okay, she had a point right now. He'd give her that.

He snorted, turning to watch the Boston skyline as it whizzed by. He wished they were back in Tyngsborough already. "Please," he said, "this has got nothing to do with you."

"Okay," she said. "Fine. I can understand that. I am not officially part of your family yet and there are things that have nothing to do with me. But are you going to pretend this is not related to Cas either?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You know he's not all right," she hissed. "You know better than I do how he's taking this whole thing with Dean. Why would you egg him on?"

"I didn't egg him on."

"So he didn't downright lie when he said you were visiting that friend of yours, Rufus, at Whitefish? Because he either knew—or realised that it was Dean you'd been visiting?"

"I was not visiting Dean," Sam maintained. "And yes, I went there to say hey to Rufus, all right? He's been around for me and Dean a lot. It's a bad time. I needed some fucking space so sue me for lying, Jess. I said I was working so you wouldn't call me. I needed to be away. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She snorted. "That's funny. You told me last year that Rufus is dead. But… sure."

Sam froze. Shit. _Shitshitshit_.

"I mean," Jess continued, "I could, for a bit understand why Cas lied about that. I think he was hoping to get news about Dean, and he isn't doing so well. It's pretty obvious." She smiled. "I knew you couldn't lie for shit."

The silence that followed was one of the most horrible periods of Sam's life. He folded his arms, knowing Vargas was probably coming for him and Cas soon. If Jess decided to complain. He knew Cas was handling Dean's situation right now but this was so, so fucked up.

"I think we should split up."

Jess's voice breached the silence and Sam looked at her from his place to watch a single tear slipping down her cheek while she continued to stare at the road. "I don't know what's going on with you but I will not get involved in this. I tried to help you and I always will but you're covering up for someone's heinous crimes and I can't be a part of that. I can't be with you anymore if this is how it's going to be. If you're going to lie and cheat everyone like this. I can't be on your side for this."

Sam's heart missed a beat. He was the one who was supposed to say this to her. He reckoned it was easier this way but he didn't know why he felt bad, now that she had voiced exactly what he wanted.

He reined himself in. "Okay."

"Okay," she echoed, sniffing. "I'll drop you off and take my things. I have that hotel booking anyway, so…"

He didn't reply to that. He enjoyed Boston's view, and then the smaller roads, and he didn't utter a word until they stopped at Dean and Cas's place. When Sam was taking his things out, he sensed Jess's eyes on him and turned to her. She averted her stare and focussed on the ground. "You've changed," she said.

"No."

"You have." Her eyes were filling again when they met his. "You're not him anymore. You're not _Sam_ …" she swallowed, blinking the tears away.

"I still love my family," he said. "I love the people I love. You know that."

"I wish that were the only thing you needed to be."

Sam drew out his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I will always stick up for Dean. There are things he's done for me that you would never understand."

"You're right," she whispered in reply. "I don't. Not the fact that Dean has done more for you than I know. And also how and when you got so damned selfish."

He left her there and entered the house, the sound of her broken voice still lingering in his ears.

**~o~**

Cas had tried calling Dean several times after that last talk. Dean was obviously not in Whitefish anymore from what he could deduce because he wasn't stupid enough to stay. Plus, he was in one of his rages and Cas knew he was probably driving out to Massachusetts full speed.

Vargas had already phoned in, asking Cas about Dean.

 _"_ _Sam's girlfriend called_ ," she said, sounding business-like, _"Dean was trying to contact Sam. What do you have to say?"_ Cas realised that Jessica had lied to Vargas. This was interesting.

"Dean does care about Sam," he said.

 _"_ _So could he have contacted Sam?"_

"He might have tried to," said Cas. "Sam didn't know. Jessica was the one who told me."

 _"_ _She said he tried your landline."_

"Then I believe her."

 _"_ _Castiel, if he tries again…"_

"I will tell you."

 _"_ _Yes. You will. Our deal stands."_

Cas sighed. "I understand, Agent." He ended the call, knowing they were done, and clenched at the bedcovers as he turned his head to the ceiling to take a few deep breaths.

He didn't know if Vargas had bought his story, but he could only hope for the best. He could literally see her wiretapping their phones though, if it hadn't been done already, and he had no doubt that it had. She would start looking for their burner phones now. He was just hoping for the best anyway.

Now he had had enough of Dean ignoring him and being stupid, so when he tried Dean's phone again and didn't get a reply, Cas left a voicemail to his husband.

"Dean," he said, "if you don't call me right now I am, as you would say, _divorcing your ass_."

He felt anxious and smug when he put his phone down, knowing Dean would definitely call back now, and hoping the police didn't find him first.

**~o~**

Belle thought about her short conversation with Castiel. She had his and Sam's phones wiretapped but for some reason had never thought to do their landline. No one ever called on those these days, and they had Sam's girlfriend over, so why would Dean risk having her catch him?

Except, apparently, he _had_ risked it. Maybe he didn't know Jessica was staying over at their place. It had to be that, or the fact that Castiel was lying, and he was very aware of what was happening. That seemed even more plausible. Belle did not trust Castiel Winchester and she had good reason for it. It was very apparent that given the chance, he would go back to Dean without a backward glance, would welch on their deal, although, he didn't have much choice here. Even still, he needed to be monitored closely.

Could he and Sam and Dean be communicating via burner phones?

Her phone chose to beep at that moment with an email, on the investigation she'd ordered on the last few calls received on the Winchesters' phone number. She opened the attachment immediately to check, only realising the next moment that Dean, in fact had not called. There were no unknown numbers, no payphone numbers—nothing suspicious. It was too clean.

Had Jessica lied? She'd also said Sam was at work with some clients—maybe she was trying to divert from that? Maybe work wasn't what Sam was really doing?

Belle needed information about the firm that Sam was working at.

As for finding the burner phones. She could, of course, get another search warrant and ransack that house again, but phones could be hidden anywhere or destroyed if they knew she was coming. It would be easier to just find out if they existed and do more wiretaps. This would take a couple of weeks, but it was doable, at least.

She stood up from her laptop and moved to the window of her room, scrolling through her contacts to get through to the local PD. She would talk to them about searching around to see if either Sam or Castiel had gotten a burner phone and track the type and number. These people, if they were involved with Dean, were not escaping from her clutches. Henriksen had been damn good but Belle was better.

She was going to prove it, too.

**~o~**

Sam watched Jess leave, already feeling a little guilty with their less-than-stellar break-up. She hadn't spoken a word after, just gathered her things and left as soon as she could. Sam had watched her pack, her hair shrouding her beautiful face and her tears, but when she'd given him one defiant last look before leaving, it was like she was challenging him to feel any more remorse about this entire situation.

Sam had just shut the door and made himself comfortable on the sofa with a magazine when Cas entered the living room, hasty and bothered. He stopped when he saw Sam.

"When did you get back?"

"Just now," Sam replied, "your bedroom door was shut, I thought you were busy." He nodded at Cas's troubled appearance. "What's wrong?"

Cas clenched his fists. "Charlie is dead," he said.

Sam almost dropped his magazine. " _What_?"

"And Kevin," said Cas. "At least, that's what I think it is."

Sam stared at him for a moment before he was able to speak. "What the hell, Cas?"

"Those are exactly my thoughts, but then your brother called and made it worse."

"How now?"

"He's coming here."

"To Tyngsborough?"

"Yes. He wants to kill the Bradys. Entirely."

Sam blinked, then reached forward for his cane. "Okay," he said, "if Dean's gonna be stupid, I think I should correct the one thing I messed up."

Cas raised an eyebrow. "And what is that?"

"Jess."

"What happened to her?"

"She left." Sam ran a hand through his hair, scuffing his shoe against the carpet. "I'll explain once I talk to her."

"Did she just leave? How didn't I notice? Sam, I tried to convince her about your trip to Whitefish—"

"She left just now," Sam confirmed with Cas. "She knew about Rufus. We kinda broke up."

Cas's eyes widened. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, I was planning to split anyway… I just hope she doesn't tell Vargas the whole thing." He clenched his jaw, realising just how deeply screwed they were. "I need to talk to her. She's at a hotel nearby."

"Jessica did speak to Vargas," said Cas, "but she lied."

"Lied, how?"

"She said Dean contacted us. She didn't give up his location." Cas looked away. "Love is a strange thing, Sam."

Guilt twisted Sam's insides again. "Shit."

"Precisely."

"I gotta go see her," said Sam. "She's pissed but I… I have to tell her…" he bit the inside of his cheek. "What are you going to do?"

"I think we should both stay back," said Cas. "Vargas is already highly suspicious. Just leave it be."

"What if Jess tells her about Montana?"

"If she does, Dean isn't there and he is safe now. So Vargas can search all she wants. But Sam, she won't."

"How do you know?"

"Like I said, love is strange. She is angry. She will take a while to stop loving you. Until then I believe you are relatively safe."

Sam chuckled. "I am going to hope you're not wrong there, Cas, 'cause if you are, we're screwed."

"Yes," said Cas. "We are in a mess, I cannot deny that. Not Dean, though. Not yet. We can stop that."

And that single thought kept Sam going. "Yeah," he said. "We can."

**~o~**

A while after their conversation Sam had begun to pace. He looked restless, like he wanted to do something, but he seemed unsure. He clenched and unclenched his jaw several times, casting glances at Cas then his watch, pacing more, and then at long last, letting out a quick breath. Cas himself had been checking his phone over and over, waiting for Dean to contact him but Sam couldn't seem to take the tension anymore.

"Okay," he said as he stopped pacing, "I'm making dinner." He started limped away to the kitchen. Cas followed him.

"I'll help."

"I'm also baking a pie," said Sam, "because Dean is so stupid, he deserves to fucking miss it. He fucking screwed everything up trying to avenge me. Idiot."

Cas chuckled. "Yes, that is a good enough punishment for your brother's idiocy, and to act like we haven't been as bad. Come on." He pretended like he was happy, like it was just another day and they were pulling Dean's leg, but both he and Sam knew that it wasn't going well at all. Cas just hoped that at this point, Dean would call him back.

He didn't have to wait more than twenty minutes for it, though. Cas was cutting a tomato when his phone rang again. He knew who it was even before he looked, but he smiled when he saw the number, despite everything that ran through his head. He wiped his hand on his apron and took it.

"Dean," he said, eager to listen to his husband's voice again.

 _"_ _What the fuck was that voicemail, Cas?"_

"Please listen to me—"

 _"_ _I'm driving and I will be there as soon as I can."_

Cas sighed. "Don't do this. The FBI is after you. Vargas called me. This is too risky."

 _"_ _Screw that, dude."_

"No." Cas put the knife down. "No. We've worked too hard on this. You _need_ to listen to me."

 _"_ _We? Cas,_ you _fucking work for those assholes. You have a cushy deal with them to help them find me. What is your problem?"_

Cas felt like Dean had driven a spike through his heart. He had never wanted to be like this in the first place. Never wanted to stay away from Dean. Sam didn't, either. Why was Dean talking like this?

"I'm just doing what you asked me to," he said, voice faltering. "You know I wouldn't even come back if it wasn't necessary."

 _"_ _Yeah, and you're comfortable, right? I made damn sure you would be, so don't sit on our goddamned couch and tell me what to do. Screw you."_

"Dean—"

 _"_ _No, Cas, I—"_

Cas took in a sharp breath. "Fucking _please_ , Dean."

Dean stopped at that, the effect immediate. Cas never swore and they both knew that and Dean seemed spellbound for a moment. A moment filled with silence.

Cas rubbed at the bridge of his nose. This was a lot harder than he thought it would be, but he wasn't letting go. "Can I at least meet you?"

 _"_ _Why, so you can change my mind?"_

"No." Cas paused. "I love you." He reached towards the cabinet for a mug. Sam was eyeing him, questioning, but Cas just managed a nod. He needed coffee. He needed to _do_ something with himself. He needed Dean back, but not like this. Sam contemplated him for a moment and then left the kitchen, deciding to give Cas his privacy with Dean.

 _"_ _Why are you saying that?"_ Dean asked from the other end of the line, sounding wary.

"Saying what?"

 _"_ _That. You know."_

Cas swallowed as he took out his mug. "I love you. You know I do." He had no qualms about saying it again. Dean, on the other hand, had never said it. Not even once.

 _"_ _Don't give me your fucking emotional shit,"_ Dean snapped, quite suddenly. Cas winced as he reached for the coffee pot. _"You get me, Cas?"_

"Yes," he replied. The pot shook in his hands. He was tired. "I just… I'm sorry. I… I am a little stressed, Dean, I didn't mean. With everything with Jessica and Charlie and Kevin dying…"

There was a pause after that, but it ended when Dean let out a sigh. _"Look, I didn't mean to…"_

Cas stood there, staring at their kitchen and thinking of Dean pinning him against the island one too many times. Consumed by sudden weakness, he put the coffee pot down and sank to the floor to lean against the cabinets. "I know."

 _"_ _You okay?"_

"No." Cas shut his eyes. "No. Things are not going well and I need to meet you. Please let me."

Dean took a moment. _"Cas,"_ he said, _"calm down, okay?"_

"I _am_ calm."

 _"_ _No, you're freaking out."_ Cas realised then that his hands were still shaking. He clenched them. _"Hey,"_ Dean said again, _"I'll meet you in Cleveland. That okay?"_

"Yes."

 _"_ _It'll take me a while to get there, so don't leave until I say so. Vargas is probably watching, too. I'll send you the coordinates. Don't worry."_

 _Don't worry. Right. That was an understatement,_ Cas thought as he let out a breathy laugh. He waited for Dean to end the call, trying to shake off the dread that was building in his gut regarding what he was about to do.

He let the phone fall from his grip. He was unable to gather the willpower to get back up until Sam came over and knelt down to throw an arm around Cas, leaning against the cabinets with him.

"We'll deal with it," he said, but he sounded angry.

Cas knew why Sam was angry. He couldn't be sure, either. That they could deal with it. He had never felt so close to tears in a long, long time and he knew he was already not dealing with it.

The next day was horrible. Cas couldn't stop trying to browse through news channels. He was anxious every time his phone rang, scared it was Vargas, but each moment of silence from his phone killed him because he needed to hear from Dean and he didn't.

Sam coaxed him into watching a movie and Cas couldn't. They were both equally nervous; they both were hoping Dean was all right and while no news was good news, the lack of it was daunting.

It was around seven in the evening when Cas heard from Dean. It was just a text message, just a word, but it made his heart flutter and he felt like he had a lot of pent-up energy he needed to release. He already had packed his things and when he was in his room, gathering them up, Sam knocked at the door.

"Come in," Cas told him.

Sam looked tired and a little haunted. "Hey," he said quietly. He'd been a rock to Cas today, and Cas suspected vice-versa. He'd never felt so close to his brother-in-law, never this bonded, although they had always been very fond of each other and the best of friends.

"Dean texted me," said Cas. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam nodded. "Are you leaving immediately?"

Cas sighed. "Yes. This is all I can do right now anyway. I need to convince him that this is a bad idea."

"How will you do that?"

"I'll just… speak to him." Cas collapsed onto his bed, bending forward to hide his face in his hands. "Hopefully, he'll listen to me. Plus, my meeting him will stall him for a bit."

"Cas, you know when he's on a rampage—"

"Yes," Cas replied. He traced an unsure finger over the circular print on the bedcover. "It's difficult to talk to him, but I need to try, Sam."

"I get it," said Sam. "Let me know if you need help."

"I'd rather you weren't involved."

Sam opened his mouth, possibly to protest, but something held him back. He gripped his cane tighter. "You gonna take care?"

"Yes. I will. Of Dean, too."

Sam waited there for a moment, watched, and then got down to sit beside Cas before grabbing him into a hug. Cas returned it a moment later, gripping Sam tight, and Sam patted his shoulder when they pulled away.

"What are you going to do?" Cas asked him.

"I was thinking I'll meet Jess," said Sam. "She's leaving tomorrow, so this is the last chance I have, you know."

Cas smiled wanly, understanding what Sam meant. "Good luck to you, too, then. I hope you're successful, as well."

Sam shrugged. "I don't see why we won't be, Cas."

He held onto that thought, that ray of hope, and got up to make his way to Dean, knowing both he and Sam had a lot of work to do to correct this situation.

**~o~**

**7:30 PM**

**The same day**

**Tyngsborough, MA**

Jess was unimpressed to see Sam when she opened the door. He'd already waited at least ten minutes when she decided to open it, and right now she was in her pyjama shorts already (he almost forgot how much she loved wearing pyjamas even if it wasn't night time). She put her hands on her hips. "Sam."

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"Please."

She bit her lip. "What do you want?"

"Just to talk. I promise." He sighed. "Give me a chance to explain."

She contemplated him for a while, expression undeterred, and at long last, stood back to let Sam limp in. He settled his cane against the wall, casting a brief glance at the small, clean room around him. Jess had wanted to spend the night with him here.

He pushed that away from his head. "Listen, Jess, I've been—"

"An ass."

"Yes, yes, I have, and…"

"Sam," she said, "just leave, okay? I don't want any more explanations for this. I told you I don't want to be a part of this at all. Just leave."

Sam looked down at his shoes. "He's my brother."

"I remember. I also remember that he's a serial killer."

"He took care of me."

"And killed fifty people."

"Please…"

"If you're going to defend him, Sam, I don't want to hear it. You can leave. I chickened out and told the cops he tried to contact you and somehow I got contacted. So you're not even involved. Not really. They will ask you questions, but…"

Sam went forward to cup her face. "Hey. Hey, look—"

She pushed him away. "Please leave," she repeated. With that, she made her way to the bathroom, shutting herself in there.

**~o~**

**8:03 PM**

Cas swore this was one of the strangest, most difficult days he'd ever experienced in his life full of strange and difficult things. The phone calls today wouldn't stop and he was half-scared that Vargas was going to wiretap him or Dean, apart from being fearful of Dean being caught by some other police. And just as he thought so, on this horrible, horrible day of his, filled with phone calls, there was another one, the ringing of his phone jarring as he drove. He looked at it and realised that this time it was Vargas. He clenched his jaw as he pulled over to the shoulder.

"Yes?"

 _"_ _Where are you?"_

He realised Vargas could probably hear the sounds of the cars passing by. He'd stolen the car he was driving but he still didn't want to take chances. He bit his lip. "I'm not home."

 _"_ _Where?"_

"I'm in Worcester. I needed some books and they have a Barnes and Noble here. You can contact me if you need to." The fact that he was in Worcester was the truth and he knew Vargas would be tracing him to this place.

 _"_ _Okay."_ He heard her breath rustle against the receiver before she spoke up again. _"Are you sure you don't know where Dean is?"_

"Yes, I'm sure," he lied. "I would have told you."

 _"_ _Castiel…"_

"I don't know where he is."

She was silent for a moment. _"Okay, then."_

"Okay—"

 _"_ _No, listen to me."_

"Yes?"

 _"_ _If Dean contacts you, or even Sam. If either of you knows where he is, tell him that we can maybe negotiate his_ _sentence and not kill him."_

"Maybe?"

 _"_ _He's a murderer, of course he won't go scot free. But I will talk about a negotiation with the prosecutor_ _who will take his case up."_

Cas swallowed, staring at the cars that ran ahead of him. "If he contacts me, I'll tell him."

 _"_ _You do that."_ Her voice sounded menacingly final and Cas knew he and Dean were about to dig their own graves. He didn't care, though. If he were about to die, this was the way he'd prefer to go.

He leaned back against the seat, trying to will himself to pull back onto the road and continue to drive, but he smiled when he thought of Dean. "I'll go with you, Dean," he whispered. With that, he was driving again with all the courage he needed.

**~o~**

**8:06 PM**

When Jess came out of the bathroom, Sam had lit the candles she'd spoken about two days ago. He had found them on the kitchenette counter along with a lighter and he had taken the opportunity, lit them, and waited on her bed. He liked the room, he realised. She'd really made efforts to try and cheer him up, to make him feel better about all this in her own way, and this was a testament to that. Had he not screwed up with her, this would be exactly where he was to be expected tonight.

He straightened when the bathroom door opened and watched Jess emerge, not expecting her nonchalance when she saw the candles. Instead, she put her hands on her hips. "You're still here."

"I said I'd take a rain check on this." He shrugged.

"The offer doesn't stand." She went over to blow out the candles but Sam got to his feet, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She looked sexy in her shorts, hair in a messy bun, and Sam wanted to take her to bed and appreciate every bit of her if she would let him.

He rested his chin on her shoulder. "Jess, please, just once. Listen…"

"Sam." She squirmed and broke away from his grip to push him. He stumbled back a few steps, blinking in surprise but before he knew it she had taken two steps forward to cup his jaw. Their lips met.

He responded at once, sighing as her mouth worked against his. His hand found her thigh and he moved his fingers over her smooth skin to reach under her shorts.

Her breath faltered. The next moment she was pushing him again, gentle hands prodding him away, taking his hand off her. She stood back, face red and hugging herself, eyes brimming with tears.

Sam opened his arms, trying to take her again. "Jess."

"Please leave."

She sounded so _done_ , so heartbroken, that he couldn't move for a bit. He realised there was nothing for him to do here. There was nothing he could fix. This was over.

"Okay," he whispered.

He collected his cane and left the room, deciding not to look back at Jess as he walked away.

**~o~**

**11:45 PM**

"The FBI called me, Dean, and they have a deal for you."

It was a few hours later and Cas was still driving. He felt tired; he needed rest for his mind more than anything, and he couldn't take any more of this driving, even though he would be reaching Dean in an hour now.

He heard Dean's exasperated release of breath from the other side of the phone at the mention of the deal. _"Are you stupid, Cas?"_

"No, I spoke to Agent Vargas."

 _"_ _Yeah. She's lying so she can get me to confess. Probably you, too. They're gonna kill me, dude."_

"Dean, she sounded serious about it."

 _"_ _I bet she did. These assholes will always sound serious. They're good actors."_ Dean paused. _"Where are you?"_

Cas looked at the road stretching ahead of him, trying to ignore the tiredness crowding his eyes. "Getting there as fast as I can, Dean."

 _"_ _Good. I'm here. Come exactly to the coordinates I told you and call me again if you need to. It's an abandoned house, so don't expect five-star service."_

Cas rubbed at his face. "Okay, Dean. And the deal…?"

 _"_ _Cas…"_

"I need to ask."

 _"_ _Fine. Meet me and we'll discuss it. Ya happy?"_

"No, but this will do."

And, if Cas was honest, for now, Dean's willingness to listen was enough for him.

**~o~**

**12:33 AM**

It was the middle of the night and Sam was sleeping when his phone rang. It was not on the burner phone, though. It was an unknown number and with everything that was going on with Dean, he never felt good about things like this. So when he took the call, he was very well aware that this was probably the police. Literally no one else would really call him on this phone.

He cleared his throat. "Hello?"

 _"_ _Sam Winchester?"_ a strange voice enquired among some background hustle and bustle.

"Yes?"

 _"_ _You're required at the hospital immediately."_

"Uh… Lowell General?"

 _"_ _Yes."_

"What's the matter?"

The caller was hesitant, but she spoke up after a minute. _"There was a fire at the Red Cherry Hotel. There was one casualty. We believe she is Jessica Moore and we need you to come over to identify her remains. I'm… I'm very sorry, Mr. Winchester."_

**~o~**

**1:26 AM**

The abandoned house that Dean had given Cas the address to looked positively uncomfortable. It was run down and located somewhere outside of public eye and it was obvious why Dean had chosen it. They would probably have to get vaccinated for tetanus after their talk here.

Cas parked his car a few blocks away and ran to the house. The Impala was nowhere to be seen in the vicinity of the house, meaning Dean had done the same. The house had a single flickering light at a window and Cas's heart missed a beat. Dean was here. He was finally going to meet Dean. Cas had driven as fast as he could without getting himself into trouble with the cops. He needed this, he needed to see Dean, to hold him, to talk, to not fight.

He could barely contain himself even as he reached the house and knocked at the door.

"Who's there?"

Dean's voice. Not from a phone, not far away. Just there.

Cas took a deep breath. "It's me."

**~o~**

**1:26 AM**

Jessica Moore was dead and Castiel was unreachable via phone. Sam had been called to identify the remains but Belle thought she knew exactly what was going on. When she had spoken to Castiel last, he was still around. Now, seven hours later, where had he gone?

"The fire came from a candle. They say she was asleep when it happened."

Sam's voice brought Belle back from her reverie. He looked small, somehow, hesitant and fumbling, and she didn't know what to say. He'd always seemed sure of himself. Confident. Fearless. Now he was just a young man trying to make heads or tails of everything and through her career Belle had always marvelled at how emotions and grief could completely change people like this.

"I lit those candles," Sam whispered. "Did she…?"

"We have reason to believe she had consumed a sedative," Belle told him quietly, needing to assure him.

"But I was there. I was in her room just before dinner."

"Where was Castiel?"

He looked up at her, hazel eyes widening. "Cas?"

"Yes, your brother-in-law. I can't trace him, can't get in touch with him. His car is still at the house but another car from two miles away was reported stolen. Did he go to meet Dean?"

"I… I don't—"

"Sam." She lowered her face to his level. "This is already a mess. I get a call from Jessica saying Dean tried to contact you—which, oh, I checked, he didn't call on your landline, so she was lying about something. This is all apart from the fact that you were not home for two days and when I contacted your firm they told me you'd gone to tackle a case at Montana despite them not expecting you to work until you fully recover. There is something going on here and we all know it so please tell me the truth. Did Castiel go to meet your brother?"

Sam pressed his lips together, looking pale and uneasy. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "H-He might have."

Belle let out a breath. "What did he tell you?"

"Th-That he needs to speak with Dean."

"They have been in contact. And I want the truth again. No one is arresting you or your brother-in-law right now."

"I—"

"Sam. Is he in contact with Dean?"

"Yes," Sam whispered, and cleared his throat. "Yes."

"How?"

"Coded letters."

Belle felt her interest pique, glad that Sam was finally talking. "How didn't I expect that? So no cell phones?"

"No cell phones."

"And where is Dean? Montana?"

"Yes. Montana. Whitefish."

"The whole time?"

"Y-Yes."

"Did you go to meet him, Sam? Is that why you were there? I found out from your firm about a strange call from Jessica regarding the case you were clearly not assigned. No one's arresting you, so you can tell me."

"I… his c-cabin is difficult to find." Sam looked like he was on the verge of a meltdown. "I… Jess told me, she didn't… I supported Dean because he's my _brother_ , and…"

"I understand." Dean was a murderer and Sam was a damned accessory after the fact but he was way more innocent than Castiel, and Belle could make another deal here. Sam was easier to pry the truth from than Castiel. Belle felt horrible taking for advantage of this tragedy, but it was best if Dean just got locked up now.

"Do you realise that Castiel might have killed your girlfriend?" she asked Sam, trying to be as gentle as possible.

He nodded. "I know why you think so. I know, a-after listening to m-me right now, you might not believe… but it's not Cas. He would never do that to me. It must be someone else, and I think I know who it is."

"Tell me."

He looked straight into her eyes and did not stutter this time. "The people who shot me. The Brady family."

**~o~**

**1:28 AM**

Cas's heart jumped into his throat as Dean opened the door and grabbed him. He stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him and Dean was kissing him, every move of his lips filled with longing and lust. Cas didn't protest when Dean started to undo his clothes, pulling off his hoodie and t-shirt, kissing and nipping at Cas's jaw and ears and collarbone. He fumbled with Dean's shirt, fingers shaking, and he ran his hands over skin, feeling Dean's lips and teeth and moaning as he let Dean take him then and there.

They were writhing on a blanket that Dean had laid out, Cas on his side and Dean pressing up to him with his body rocking against Cas's. He had to bite his lips against Dean's warmth and touch and _everything, everything_ , trying not to cry out because he didn't want to make noise. But, oh God. Oh God, _ohgodohgod_ … Cas grunted, then gasped loudly as he came, Dean still gripping Cas's shoulder, thrusting against him. "Yeahh," he said, "oh, fuck yeah…"

A moment later Dean was climaxing, too, making Cas weak everywhere, sending his heartbeat fluttering and Cas didn't think he'd be able to stand or walk now. He didn't think he could move from _here_. He didn't want Dean gone, though, so when his husband pulled out, Cas was rolling over until he was on Dean, stroking his hair and kissing him again and again because, oh, he really, really loved Dean.

He didn't think he could love anyone this much.

Later, Cas sat relaxed in Dean's arms, still naked as Dean poured him whiskey in paper cups he stole from somewhere. It was incredible that Dean could find whiskey while on the run but there were some things Cas didn't doubt about Dean, one of them being his ability to acquire alcohol. The house was old and dusty but seemed to have a vaguely functioning TV and some electricity, even though Dean just switched on the dimmest light in the room so it wouldn't be immediately noticeable to anyone passing by. The blanket they were cuddling on was more comfortable than the bed Cas had slept in for so many days and he couldn't help but sigh. He had missed this so much.

Dean was resting against the wall behind him, holding Cas to himself with one bare leg draped around both of Cas's. He came up to kiss Cas's neck from behind, his lips sending butterflies into Cas's stomach. He sighed, sinking into the feeling as he let Dean cup his cheek, lips sucking at sensitive skin and making Cas shudder with every touch.

Dean's breaths were measured in the silence as he worked painfully slowly, each move sensual and enticing and _unbearable_. Cas realised then that he'd almost forgotten what he was here for, and it was so important that he needed Dean to listen. Hesitant about ending Dean's kisses, Cas turned around and kissed Dean's mouth to stop him. "We have to talk," he said.

Dean's hand was already moving down, fingers brushing against Cas's navel and lower. Cas's breath stuttered as blood rushed into his face. "Dean."

"Mmm."

Dean leaned in and kissed him again, his thumb working on Cas, and Cas was already becoming hard. He palmed the back of Dean's head, grunting, trying to pull away. "Dean, the deal."

"Yeah," Dean muttered. Cas hissed as Dean's palm rubbed him, goosebumps rising on his skin. Dean just kept murmuring against Cas's lips in between kisses, unperturbed. "I considered it," he said, tongue flicking at the side of Cas's mouth. "And it's dumb, so let me fuck you again now."

"Please think."

"Cas," Dean growled, "don't ruin it." He moved closer as he dragged his fingers, touching secret places and making Cas's breaths hitch. "All fours," he whispered.

Cas felt something sink into this stomach as Dean started to reach for the lube. "Do it before you come on me," Dean muttered, moving to kiss Cas again, but Cas turned away and disentangled himself from his husband.

Dean glared, hand falling limp to the side. "Shut up for a bit, man, and—"

"Hear me out," Cas interrupted him, still hard, but trying to focus. He'd really wanted the sex but they had more pressing issues right now. He drew in a breath. "What Vargas offered is a good deal."

That snapped Dean. "Excuse me?" He let go of Cas completely, sultriness gone and eyes growing dark. He took a sharp breath. "Okay, I'm not gonna explode. You explain."

Cas shrugged. "I just mean, you don't have to hide. Once you're out of prison, we can live happily."

Dean eyed him for a moment. "I need a drink," he growled. He reached for their whiskey glasses, turning his back to Cas as he took them over to his duffel and poured drinks. When he was back, he handed Cas a cup. "What do you mean _,_ I'm out of prison?"

Cas drank the whole thing at once. He needed to deal with this. He needed to speak to Dean. "There is a bargain, Dean. A plea bargain. If you take that—"

"Are you forgetting who else killed those people with me?" Dean asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"I just did as you asked me to." Things were starting to swirl about a bit and Cas regretted drinking that whiskey all at once. He swayed and pushed back, leaning himself against the wall as he looked at Dean with half-mast eyes.

Dean didn't notice anything wrong with Cas as he finished his own whiskey and put his cup aside, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "That is fucking convenient, Cas. Screw you. I risked my ass for you and now you want me in jail!"

"That is not what I meant."

"I know _exactly_ what you meant, and I'll say it again. Screw. You. Go back to your fucking FBI pals if this is what you came for." Dean stood up, kicking his paper cups away, and Cas was so tired. He knew what it sounded like, but honestly, he was willing to confess as well once they had Dean's deal settled. He wouldn't mind it if he had to spend the rest of his time with Dean in prison, but as far as possible he wanted to make sure they would both be out soon. Sam could do something about it. Help them. And if Vargas had a readymade deal for Dean right now… he… he was pretty sure this wasn't the reason he'd first… he'd wanted to confess with Dean.

His brain refused to work. Was he drunk already?

Dean wouldn't understand. That was the only thing Cas knew and…

He was too tired to negotiate. He just needed to switch off.

He blinked heavily. "I'm very tired, Dean."

"Good. Go the fuck to sleep." Dean wore his boxers roughly, blurring in and out of focus but not looking at Cas even for a bit.

Cas didn't even seem to have the strength to reach for his own clothes. He'd also slept naked too many times to care. He relaxed against the blanket. "Can we talk about this again in the morning?" he asked, opening his arms for Dean. "Please come here. Sleep next to me."

"No." Dean headed to the other corner of the room, removing more blankets from his duffel and the tone of his response threatened to shatter Cas. "I'm gonna be gone in the morning," said Dean. "You do whatever the fuck you wanna."

"Don't be like that."

"I will be the way I want to, Cas," snapped Dean, "so shut up, okay? Go to sleep."

Cas obeyed him, pulling the blanket tightly over him and deciding he wouldn't sleep too heavily. He was going to talk to Dean about this and they were going to find a better way to deal with their current situation than this mess. He held on to the hurt he felt, promising himself to explain to Dean why he thought the deal was a good idea.

He just needed rest… he needed to shut his eyes right now. He also needed some time. He and Dean needed time…

Never mind that they'd had plenty of it all this while. Never mind that things had been crumbling between them ever since Henriksen had set foot into their home that day.

**~o~**

**5:17 AM**

Miles away, Sam lay awake in his bed, not sleeping a wink through the night. He had gone and identified Jess's body; she was heavily burnt, face just barely recognisable. He had sat in the hospital for hours, calling Jess's family and talking to the police and firefighters and everything had just been dizzying and confusing.

His hands itched. He wanted to talk to Dean. But he knew Dean was in enough trouble already and he couldn't do that. So he curled up, the pain in his back especially excruciating now, and he lay there for hours and hours to come.

**~o~**

**8:23 AM**

When Cas woke up, he felt like he'd been hit by a truck. His head was pounding against his skull, his mouth was dry, and there was a sound from somewhere, a loud sound, and he couldn't figure out what it was. His stomach rolled. He swallowed and screwed his eyes shut. He couldn't remember a thing. He didn't know where he was or what he was doing. He just… what was he doing naked and laid out on what felt like a blanket?

Someone was talking loudly beside him. Sounded like the TV. What was Dean doing, watching TV? Didn't he have to go to the diner?

"D—" the word got stuck in Cas's throat and he didn't know what to do. He felt like there was no strength anywhere in him. Like he couldn't move or think or…

 _"_ _The video, which was identified as featuring Castiel and Dean Winchester, was texted to our reporter's phone this morning from an unknown number. Castiel Winchester, well-known author of the 'Werewolf' novel series was found, earlier this month…"_

Cas barely listened to the rest of his description as his eyes shot open. _What?_

 _"_ _Their pictures were launched last night in another attempt to find them after the confirmation of Jessica Moore's death. Moore was linked to Sam Winchester…"_ Cas sat up with all the strength he could muster, realising the sound was coming from the TV. What was going on? Where was Dean? And when did Jessica die?

"Dean?"

He looked around, blinking sleep out of his eyes, chest seizing up when Dean's bags were nowhere to be found. Hadn't he met Dean last night? They'd had sex, and Dean had cuddled against Cas. And then that… that hand job. They were fighting… for a bit. Dean had poured out whiskey for him. Cas couldn't remember all of it. What happened after? Why wasn't Dean here?

The sound of his own name caused him to look back abruptly at the TV. "Castiel, after being cleared of charges relating to the murders, was working in association with the FBI," the anchor said, unperturbed in her crisp suit. "He was found missing from Tyngsborough last night, where Moore was found dead. We still await confirmation on whether it was a murder. In the meantime, we present to you highly-censored footage of the Winchesters, which played an integral role for the FBI to confirm their unbroken contact with each other."

Were they… they wouldn't, right? Would they actually show that video? Had Dean shot it? How had it gotten there to the news people?

In the meantime, the anchor gathered her papers and the small box beside her widened to fit the TV. Cas couldn't help but watch in horror as a video came on.

It was him and Dean… from last night, the sounds removed and images blurred, but paused briefly at the end to zoom in on his and Dean's faces. Then it started again, still severely censored. It was just a small clip on repeat and even as he saw it, Cas felt warmth rush up his cheeks. Had… had Dean sent that in? Or had Cas done it, seeing as he couldn't remember a thing from last night after the sex?

That was when he noticed the post-it on the TV. He got up from his place, legs shaky as he went to retrieve it. It had Dean's handwriting on it.

_Payback for the whoring. Go back to being the FBI's bitch._

Bile rose up Cas's throat. Fumbling for his phone, he found it and dialled Dean's number. Dean should have had some reason for this… he wouldn't just do this. He wouldn't.

Dean's phone was switched off. Cas tried over and over again, hoping and hoping because it couldn't be. But he had no luck. Dean had left. Dean had _really_ done this.

Cas put his phone away and checked his watch. It had been seven hours since he remembered getting here. And… assuming Dean had left soon after Cas fell asleep, Dean was either reaching Tyngsborough or had reached it already.

A variety of emotions overwhelmed him, bludgeoning him all at once. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know why Dean had done this. He loved Dean; had never meant to harm him, he had just wanted to meet Dean. To see him after so long.

_Payback for the whoring. Go back to being the FBI's bitch._

He crushed the post-it note and threw it away.

_Why?_

Cas buried his face in his hands, as he was unable to contain his tears anymore.


	12. The Victim

**Eleven: The Victim**

**9:20 AM**

Dean was glad his house was not being patrolled. He'd been worried when he'd sent the clips to the reporter this morning that they would think he was coming back home. It was a little handy that Cas had their contacts. Perfect little payback. Not as bad as the shit Cas had pulled, but… Dean couldn't do something that shitty to him.

His heart sank when he thought of Cas. He hoped his husband was doing okay. He would have woken up by now and he would have seen it… but Dean didn't regret that. Cas was being an asshole and he deserved that one.

He realised his house was almost empty. Either the cops hadn't heard of Occam's Razor, or Sam had had some hand in this. Dean made sure no neighbours were watching as he found the spare key and let himself in. The house was completely silent. Sam seemed to be asleep, even though the kid never slept this late and Dean wondered why. He headed to Sam's room, only to find that his assumption had been true. His brother was snoozing away.

"Sammy?" Dean took a seat on Sam's bed beside him and noticed the dark circles around his eyes. He immediately felt horrible about waking Sam up, but Dean didn't have a choice. He didn't have too much time here.

His brother, however, opened his eyes, and they instantly widened when he saw Dean. "D-Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean stroked his hair back. He smiled. "Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

"You mean you ain't happy to see me after so long?"

Sam chuckled, pushing himself up on his pillows. "I saw you two days ago, dude," he said, voice hoarse and feeble. "What did you do, though? Police had come over a couple of hours ago. I was too out of it, honestly."

"Oh, I didn't do much," Dean smiled. "Small scandal." He paused, fingering the bedcover. "I gotta go now, Sam. You'll take care of yourself?"

Sam blinked at that, realisation hitting his eyes. "Don't do it."

"What?"

"Cas told me what you're planning. I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to pursue it."

Dean wanted to say _screw Cas_ and _Cas is a fucking traitor and a selfish fuck_ and _Cas sucks, is a dumbass, so don't mention his name,_ but he didn't say any of that. It hurt. He hated that it hurt. He hated that it had come to this. So he pushed Cas out of his mind and cupped Sam's neck, pulling him forward only to plant a kiss on his brother's head. "I'll be fine, okay? You sleep. Cas was wrong and I took care of it."

If anything, Sam was more awake than before at that statement. "What did you do to Cas?" he asked, voice slightly louder, brows furrowed and jaw clenching.

Dean shook his head. "Nothing life-threatening."

"Where is he?" Sam sounded dead serious about it, and Dean knew he wasn't letting this go.

He shrugged. "Can we not talk about it?"

"Where is Cas, Dean?" Sam asked him slowly, again, and his voice was calm but Dean found himself pressing his lips together, looking down at his hands.

"He's in Cleveland," he said at long last. "He's alive."

"Alive."

"I put some Xanax in his whiskey…"

Sam's eyes widened again, jaw falling open. He scrambled up, disturbing his bedcovers as his feet touched the floor. "Are you fucking crazy?" he asked Dean. "Have you lost it? You poisoned him?"

"Nah, he'll be awake…"

"Are you sure?"

"I added a small dose," Dean told him. "Stop being a pansy about this."

"A pansy," Sam scoffed. "Right. You mix a sedative with whiskey, pull some stupid crap, which, by the way, I am going to find out about whether you tell me or not the moment I switch the news on—"

"It's just a fucking sex tape," said Dean.

Sam nodded. "A sex tape. After you laced his drink. Wow, Dean, that's not fucked up at all."

"I did not lace his drink before or while I was fucking him," said Dean, the thought making him cringe. Did Sam really think he'd do that? "It was _after_ , okay?" he said. "We fought, I did it. He slept. I did not touch him after. I know I was a jerk, but gee, thanks for having so much faith in my abilities as a fucking _rapist_."

"So you recorded having sex with him without his consent?"

"He knows I record sometimes."

"I bet he does, but I also bet he made himself clear about how private he wants to be about it."

"Jesus, Sam!" Dean growled. "Stop hammering me about this crap already! It's not even as bad as what he's done."

"Oh." Sam rested against his headboard. The curtain behind him fluttered, and Dean realised he needed to be out of here already. "It's _bad_ , is it? What he's done _for_ you?" Sam continued, not paying attention to Dean's urge to get out and do his job. "You're going to explain that shit to me, Dean."

"What do you wanna know?" Dean asked him. "He struck some deal with the feds and he wants me in prison, okay, Sam? That's what he did. What I did was send a sex tape to a reporter. Through _my_ phone. On my way here. I haven't revealed his location or shit and my phone is probably under some car now 'cause I got rid of it."

"Great, so while Vargas is after your ass," said Sam, "Cas is trying to reduce jail term for you on the—and I need to say this, but very, very valid and possible situation that she catches you. She's here, by the way. She's in this town at this moment. She can barge through that door and handcuff you _right now_."

"Cas wants me to surrender anyway, so if you wanna call Vargas, just do it already, okay?"

"Stop being melodramatic."

"I'm not." Dean felt the pain well up but kept it buried. He didn't seem to have escaped Sam's attention, though, and had to look away when his brother's expression softened. "My own husband wants me to go to prison," he said. "You happy? Go gang up against me with him, why don't you?" He didn't have the willpower to yell anymore, but yelling would be better than having some gross breakdown, which he totally was not going to have right now. He ignored the lump in his throat.

"I get why he said that," Sam said slowly, "and I told you not to be melodramatic. Can we have a legitimate discussion here?"

Dean swallowed once, twice, and gathered himself. "It's easy for him to say that. To ask me to go to prison. It's _my_ ass on the line here."

"It is," said Sam. "And if you think you're not screwing everything up for yourself right now, when Cas called and told you to not come here, when you knew what could happen—"

"That's a risk I'm willing to take!"

"It's not a risk, Dean. The only reason you're sitting here in your home, talking to me, is that I requested privacy for today for a bit and they respected it."

"Why the hell—?"

Sam's jaw clenched. "Jess is dead."

"What?"

"I was in the hospital all night. I told Vargas to look for you at Whitefish. But the TV channels and newspapers have you plastered on them anyway."

"How did Jess—?"

"Fire," said Sam. He turned away, swallowing audibly. Dean just stared blankly, not knowing what to say.

He raised his hand to put it on his brother's shoulder. "Sammy, I'm sorry, I—"

Sam shrugged him away. "You're an idiot. You shouldn't have done that." His eyes flashed. "Charlie and Kevin aren't coming back. Cas was looking for a good place to let you stay put. Even with all that shit there was a solution and now…"

"Cas wanted me to go to prison," Dean repeated. "And he wasn't going to take the blame."

"Which is what you wanted him to do. He could have given up long ago," said Sam. "He lied for _us_. So you would know he was here for me, and so he could legitimately be here for me. He was with me at the hospital every fucking day, okay?"

"Yeah, I get that."

Sam shut his eyes. "No. No, you don't. You don't _get_ how hard it was for him. You think the fact that he's out of prison is all there is to this, but you have no idea. You don't know the look on his face every time someone mentioned you, or whenever he saw you on TV. Or when he spoke about the shit he had to say to the psychoanalysts at the FBI about you, that he clearly didn't want to say. You don't know what I saw when I told him I was going to visit you, and he couldn't. You weren't there two days ago when you'd left Montana and he was trying to stop you from coming back. Dean, if they catch you today, you die. There will be no deal for you. He just didn't want you to _die_."

It was dawning on Dean, all of it, and he thought of last night when he'd cuddled with Cas and added the pills to his whiskey and that fight and…

He felt sick to his stomach. He shouldn't have done that. He needed to go right back to Cas. He needed to make sure Cas was okay. He needed to go back.

He'd also come all this way for something else, and that was important, too. No one even knew Charlie and Kevin were dead yet… not even the feds. _Jesus_. He needed to do this. If he ran away now, the Bradys would find his next hiding place and sabotage him again. If he was successful, he could apologise to Cas. They could take Sam with them and go away and maybe move to another country and just live better lives.

But Dean's task right now was important.

He made up his mind as he stood up from the bed. "I gotta go."

"Where?"

He stared at Sam a whole moment before he could reply. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll be back for you." When Sam stared back at him, angry and remorseful, Dean knew in the deepest pit of his heart that his promise was a lie.

Before he left he put Cas's letter from two days ago back in his dresser, hoping his husband would find it and remember that it hadn't always been this bad.

**~o~**

**9:39 AM**

Cas somehow gathered the strength to stop shaking after what seemed like an entire hour and he had no idea how he did that, for he was limp as a dead person. He wiped his face with the backs of his hands as he composed himself. He'd never been so humiliated and heartbroken and upset. Not since that… _incident_ at Banks's house.

That had been so many years ago. Cas still remembered the details. They came back to him in the nights sometimes and Dean would wrap himself around Cas and murmur words of comfort. Dean would pull him out when his brain replayed the scenes when they were doing something as normal as going through their chores. When Cas would stop and think he was somewhere else, in that basement, with Banks looming over him…

He swayed, blinking. His breaths were quick, but not as fast as his heartbeat. He couldn't do this. He'd reached his breaking point. He couldn't do this anymore.

He needed to get home now. Home to Dean. And Sam, too. They needed to figure out a way to run away, all three of them.

Cas was tired of running away. He was tired of being so lonely and living his life in fear.

It took him a few more minutes to start moving again, to reach for his boxers. He was nauseated and clammy from whatever Dean had made him drink. His mouth was dry, an unpleasant taste lingering in it. Cas continued to dress, boxers, jeans, and finally his t-shirt. He stuffed his hoodie into his bag and smoothed his hair, trying to look and feel presentable as he checked around that he hadn't missed anything. He couldn't afford to drive back to Tyngsborough. The news channel had said the FBI was investigating Whitefish for Dean and it wouldn't be long before they figured out that no one was there and Cas couldn't risk taking a long time to drive back now. He needed to help Dean run or hide, whatever it was. He would always help Dean.

His phone rang just as he was exiting the house. It was Sam. Cas took the call. "Hello?"

 _"_ _You okay?"_ Sam sounded calm and angry at the same time.

"Yes, Sam, I—"

 _"_ _Dean's here."_

So Cas had been right. Dean probably left immediately. "Oh," he said. "In the house?"

 _"_ _No."_

Cas didn't ask where on the off chance that someone was actually tracking the burner phones. "I am coming back," he said. "Sam, can you book me a plane ticket?

 _"_ _Cas, the FBI…"_

"I think they have guessed our situation by now," Cas told him. "I have my other phone switched off, but I know Vargas must be trying to get in touch."

"She is." Sam paused for a moment. "She thinks you killed Jess."

"Wait, Jessica—?"

 _"_ _Is dead. Last night."_

Cas took a sharp breath. "Sam, I'm sorry. I know she meant—"

 _"_ _You and Dean don't get yourselves killed,"_ said Sam. _"Please."_

"I'll try, Sam," Cas replied, letting himself back into the house and shutting the creaky door behind him.

 _"_ _No. Promise me."_

Cas sat down against the wall again. "You know I can't do that. You know every police force in the country is after us."

Sam seemed to understand that. _"Okay,"_ he said. _"But be as safe as you can. I told the FBI that Dean is in Whitefish so they think you're there, too."_

"Thank you."

 _"_ _Will you guys come back?"_

Cas swallowed. "We'll try."

 _"_ _And…"_ Sam chuckled lightly, _"if… if you can't, or don't… take me with you."_

"We will."

 _"_ _Yeah, and if you guys don't do that, I'll fucking_ go _with you, okay? I'll force myself in, I_ _don't care—"_

"You're different," Cas told him. "You have a good life."

 _"_ _No, screw it. I don't want that."_

There was a moment of silence. Cas drew circles through the dust with his fingers, thinking about what he was promising Sam. If he and Dean didn't keep it, Sam would be heartbroken. But… was there even a way to keep that promise now?

"Sam."

 _"_ _Yeah."_

"Would you be able to book my plane ticket?" Cas asked him at long last. A change of subject would be good. Trying to sound positive about this would work.

At least, Cas hoped it would.

 _"_ _I honestly think you should book the ticket yourself,"_ said Sam. _"In case—"_

"They'll probably arrest me," said Cas.

 _"_ _Then drive."_

"What if Vargas realises he's in town before I'm there?"

Sam seemed to think about that for a while. _"We'll deal with it,"_ he said, at long last. _"We'll deal_ _with it, okay?"_

"All right." It sounded like the worst solution ever, but Cas needed something to agree with right now.

 _"_ _Good."_ Sam's voice lowered, concerned and gentle. _"You gonna be okay?"_

"Yes, Sam. You?"

 _"_ _I'll be all right. I'll see you."_

"For sure." Cas ended the call, rubbing at his eyes, and then headed back inside the house to help himself to some of the snacks he had carried along. He had a long day ahead of him.

**~o~**

**10:01 AM**

Dean Winchester and the Sex Tape. Belle was sure this case would stick with her for her entire life. She didn't know if the tape was a challenge or some kind of revenge thing against Castiel. Castiel wasn't in town. There was no one in Whitefish, according to the local police. She really couldn't even reach Castiel via phone right now, which meant he was avoiding being called precisely by her; it also meant no wiretapping. She needed the trace on their burner phones sped up because she _knew_ now that those existed.

She'd called Sam. He'd sounded disoriented and he was definitely still home. He said he hadn't heard from Dean or Cas and he sounded too out of it to be lying. She'd be checking up on that anyway.

The message Dean had sent to the reporters was traceable to somewhere near Buffalo and then it seemed he had destroyed the phone. He'd also changed the plates on his car, so Belle knew it was no use chasing after a '67 Chevy Impala. But. Buffalo. Did this mean Dean was heading to Tyngsborough?

Whether he was or not, Belle had a plan. And if she didn't get a hold of Castiel in twenty-four hours, she was about to play dirty and have Sam taken into custody. She knew Dean and Castiel would never sit quiet at that, even though she'd met only one of them until now. They'd emerge from wherever they were hiding: whether it was Tyngsborough or some part of Whitefish they'd missed.

Sam was the best bet she had right now.

**~o~**

**3:43 PM**

It had taken Cas a lot of strength and willpower to think through the massive headache he'd acquired, to gather his wits and plan his journey back home. By the time he'd fed himself he'd already lost about half an hour and he was restless as it was. At the same time he could also feel fatigue seeping through every inch of him.

He stole another car to drive to Tyngsborough, his thoughts on Dean the whole drive: all six hours of it. Their talk from last night. The fact that things were bad. Dean was going to get caught. Cas knew it, he felt it somewhere in his gut. He hadn't seen Dean in so long and… and if the police got him, Dean wouldn't go quietly. He was accused of killing a federal officer (Cas had done that, Cas had done that). Dean was eligible for the death penalty.

Would Cas ever see him again?

He wasn't ready to let go of Dean. He never would be.

Oh god. Oh god.

He and Dean: they were bad people. They were _awful_ people. Cas had spoken to the families of their victims, all of them heartbroken, still regretting not being able to say goodbye… the funerals of their loved ones held after so long and… and… he and Dean had done this to those people. Those people, who might have done bad things, but had had families.

Even after all this, Cas didn't feel that he or Dean deserved to die.

How ironic, because they actually _did_ , if they worked with the same logic that they'd used to choose their victims.

It was… it was time to accept punishment. He knew he'd spoken to Vargas about this, and it seemed so long ago now, but she was right that he and Dean needed to be punished. It was over.

The realisation brought an odd sense of calm to Cas. He reduced his driving speed and pulled over to the side of the road. He needed to make a phone call. He needed to know where Dean was.

He got a hold of Sam within a couple of rings. _"Cas?"_ His brother-in-law still sounded tired like before, and Cas found himself being concerned.

"Sam? Are you all right?"

 _"_ _Yeah."_ Sam cleared his throat. _"What happened? Where are you?"_

"Worcester. Do you know where Dean went?"

 _"_ _No, but I have an idea,"_ said Sam _. "I would go… but I don't want to draw attention to him. They're probably watching me."_

"I know."

 _"_ _You need to speak to him. I tried, but you really should."_

Cas scoffed. "You think he'll listen to me?"

 _"_ _He loves you."_

Cas's throat tightened. After what he was about to do? Would Dean still love him? "Sam, I can't be sure of that anymore," he whispered.

 _"_ _No, Cas, he—"_

"Sam."

 _"_ _Yes?"_

Cas swallowed. "If I'm unable to keep my promise to you, I would just like to tell you… I'm sorry."

 _"_ _What are you going to do?"_

"Nothing that I shouldn't," said Cas. "But you have to accept my apology. I care for you and do not wish you to get involved. But you, like Dean always says, are going to be fine."

 _"_ _The hell I am, man, what the fuck—?"_

"Sam, please," he interrupted, voice shaking. "Please understand; that's all I ask."

 _"_ _Cas, don't."_

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

 _"_ _Cas?"_

"I have to go now," he said. "Please stay at home and take care."

 _"_ _You can't give me that bullshit!"_

"I know. I apologise. I have to go."

Before Sam could continue, Cas cut the call and leaned back against his seat. He knew Dean wasn't in Boston yet and like Sam, he knew exactly where Dean was, too. He was about to wait the day out and plan his murder and maybe it might not have been Tyngsborough exactly, but Cas knew a place close enough for Dean, which was safe because no one would think to look there.

Cas smiled. He was breaking a lot of promises and vows today. He needed to get back to his husband.

A while later when he pulled up outside Charlie's house, he called Vargas. She picked up immediately, sounding like she was about to burst in through the phone line and swoop down upon him. _"Where are you?!"_

"Lowell."

 _"_ _And you've been there this whole time? I was trying to contact you last night. Jessica Moore is—"_

"I need you to write down an address," said Cas, interrupting her.

 _"_ _Why?"_

He took a deep breath. "Because it's where I will be with Dean when you send someone to find us."

**~o~**

**4:24 PM**

Dean cleaned Charlie and Kevin's bodies. He wiped off the blood and smoothed their hair. He straightened their clothes out. He put them both on the bed because they needed to be comfortable. And then he watched over them.

No one even knew they were dead. Charlie had no family; she'd been in the system like Sam and Dean. He'd hired her because of that. As for Kevin… where was his mom? How come she didn't find it weird that he wasn't home? She was a hardworking lady; maybe she was at a business trip herself, Dean couldn't be sure. They didn't have many friends who would come looking for them either; Charlie's final exams must be approaching and everyone must have been studying.

Cas couldn't have informed the police because it would raise the question of how he knew they were dead.

This was a horrible way to die, rotting away until someone found you, until you became something horrendous and gruesome rather than someone whose loss should have caused grief. Dean wouldn't forgive the Bradys. He was going to tear them apart. Piece-by-piece. He didn't care.

He tucked Charlie's hair behind her ear and laid a hand on her cold forehead. Oh God. Oh fucking God. She and Kevin should never have died. Dean might have been ruthless and a killer but he'd truly loved these kids. If by some miracle he could reopen his diner, he couldn't fucking imagine it without them.

His thoughts and memories were broken by a sound from the hallway. Dean alerted himself. Who was that? He reached for his waistband where he'd stashed a gun, listening closely and realising that the lock was being picked.

His heart rate sped up, senses on high-alert, and he was coiled up, ready to spring, gun in hand when he heard unmistakeable shuffling footsteps. Sounds he'd known for years now.

Oh.

Dean chuckled, wiping sweat off his brow as he entered the living room. Damn, that had been stupidly scary. The cops weren't here yet. Not at all.

When the door opened the next moment, Dean wasn't surprised to see his husband walk in. Cas took two steps and stopped, gaze roving over to meet Dean's and then moving downward like he was observing Dean for the last time.

Dean let him. "You done checking me out?" he asked at long last. "'Cause I already know I'm hot as fuck."

Cas's eyes switched back to look into Dean's, but he didn't reply. Dean waited like that for a moment. He folded his arms. "What's up?"

Cas shook his head and continued to stare at him like he couldn't talk, happy and heartbroken at once. Dean wanted to grab him, but he stayed put. There was something off about Cas.

Finally, Cas seemed to gather himself as he moved back to shut the door and lean against it. Dean could see his fists clenching, shaking a little, and he looked tired and faint. He tried not to think or feel guilty about the whiskey and sedative combo.

Cas managed to speak a moment later. "Why, Dean?"

Dean swallowed, listening to the accusation and grief and sadness in his husband's voice and steeled himself. "You know why," he said. Realisation hit him like a ton of bricks; Cas's posture and expressions and gestures and everything else. He knew what was going on. He knew why Cas was here.

Dean sighed. "I know why you did it, too, and I'm not mad, okay? Let's not fucking be mad at each other for once."

"Did what?"

Dean snorted. "Seriously? It's over now, dude. What's done is done. So tell me," he raised an eyebrow, "when are the cops coming?"

**~o~**

Cas couldn't be angry with Dean for any length of time. That had never happened in the twelve years they'd known each other. Someone always apologised before too long. Sometimes, pride got in the way, but most of the time, they had no pride when it came to each other. They'd been laid bare and naked and vulnerable in front of each other. Cas knew Dean's very soul and vice-versa. However in the last twelve years, Cas had never done anything like this. He suspected he'd never do it again in the future, either, because of the kind of morbid outcome this could have.

When Dean looked into Cas's eyes and asked him where the cops were, Cas didn't know what to say. He felt remorse and love as well as marvel that Dean probably didn't hate him, could still read him, and was not reaching to kill him.

Maybe Dean wouldn't hate him for this.

Cas cleared his throat. "How do you know about the police?"

Dean smiled. "You mean you didn't call them? It was obvious what you wanted. Last night."

Cas looked away at the dully-wallpapered wall. Charlie and Kevin were probably lying dead inside. They were about to be discovered. The police were going to think Dean had killed them, but…

"Cas." Dean nudged him gently, and Cas heard him take a step forward. "Talk to me."

Cas continued to stare at the wall. "I'm going to be confessing, too."

"Okay. And? We'll share a cell, have sex in communal showers while Sam runs around and ruins his life trying to bail us out?"

Cas needed to sit. Everything was reeling. He swayed, but Dean's hands caught him by the shoulders. "Look at me," Dean said. "Please."

Cas's eyes snapped unwillingly from the wall to meet Dean's green ones. He'd always loved Dean's eyes. So green, so gorgeous, so full of life. Those beautiful eyelashes surrounding them. Dean's mouth, always saying kind things to Cas even after they fought, kissing him in every place possible like he was the most appreciated person on the planet…

"Dean." Cas's voice barely left his throat. The whole world could be dissolving around him right now but he didn't care. "Dean, we're not good people," he said.

"And what made you think so, Cas? You were all aboard the killing train until you met that idiot FBI lady."

"I spoke to some of the families of our victims. I realised what it was like to miss family. And what we've done in the last few days alone..."

"Wow, empathy. I don't remember you feeling this way while we were actually doing that stuff."

The sound of distant sirens infiltrated the quiet between them. Cas folded his arms. "No. It was not empathy. It was because I felt the same about you being away from me. I realised… Dean, we've become the very people we kill."

Dean seemed to have no reply to that. The sirens got louder. It was happening.

"They will imprison us," said Cas, "but we can have a deal, Sam will help us, and—"

"You're kidding, right? There's only one thing that's gonna happen when they get through that door, Cas. They're gonna kill me."

"They won't. You deserve a trial. We both do."

"In a few years, then," said Dean. He shrugged. "I'd rather they did it now."

"No, Dean."

Dean stopped holding him and stumbled back. "Cas," he said, "search your heart and tell me again that that lady is just going to make a magical deal with us and everything will be fine. We killed a fucking federal agent, man. We're going to the electric chair. And before that, fucking prison. There's nothing else for us here."

The cars were stopping. Cas heard doors open and shut as he looked at the curtained windows of the apartment. They were only on the second floor, and—

"You didn't kill a federal agent," he told Dean. "I did."

"Doesn't matter," said Dean. "It was a fucking combined effort. We're involved in more than one state. We've killed a fuckload of people. I don't think they want us alive."

"We can try."

"No—"

"Dean, please."

"Dammit, Cas, listen to me!" Cas blinked, still dizzy, realising Dean was holding something out to him. However, he knew the silver shimmer before he reached for it and looked at the bowie knife he'd been handed. "Tell them I tried to kill you," said Dean. "Go on. You know how to do it."

There was a knock at the door. _"FBI, open up!"_

Cas's breath caught in his throat when he realised what Dean was asking of him. "Dean, I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Dean said over more knocks. "Yes, you can. Take care of Sam. Send him away from this shit. Away from Palo Alto and even here. Maybe Minnesota. Look it up."

"Dean…"

"With Jess and I gone, he'll need you," Dean pressed. Behind him, someone started to bang harder against the door. "Come on, there isn't time."

"Sam wants us both alive, Dean."

"Cas, please!" There was another bang. Dean's brows were furrowed, expression desperate and distressed. "I don't want to go to prison, okay?"

"Dean, I—" Cas was interrupted when Dean took two steps forward, grabbing Cas's face in his hands.

He kissed Cas's lips. "I love you."

Cas's hair stood on end, every cell in him freezing, as Dean kissed his lips over and over again. "I love you," he whispered between kisses. "I love you. I fucking love you."

It was the first time that Dean had said that. Cas had always imagined, wondered, and thought of a number of ways he'd react to that, but none of those scenarios had even been close to this. Tears formed in his eyes, escaping, wetting both their cheeks, and the door was starting to weaken under whoever was breaking it down on the other side.

At long last, Cas kissed Dean back, his breaths hitching in his throat, unable to form words. No, he wanted to say. I love you, he wanted to say, but he couldn't. He was helpless and stagnant but Dean didn't stop.

"I love you," he said again. "I always will. You have to help me. Please, Cas." Dean's voice broke.

The door gave way a bit more and Cas clenched the knife in his hands. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay," he said when Dean pulled away. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Dean palmed his face, breaking apart for just a second. He thumbed away Cas's tears. "It's all right, babe."

"You never say babe." Cas's breaths were coming in heaves, emotions consuming him whole and he knew it was now or never. Dean nodded, came in for another kiss as Cas made up his mind. Before Dean could pull away from that, Cas held him there, one arm around Dean as he brought the knife down with the other, running it across Dean's throat, getting both carotids.

Dean choked and went limp, falling into Cas, warm, syrupy blood oozing, and Cas let the sob bubble up his throat. The banging against the door was stronger, more frantic, and Cas did not have to wait another second before bringing the same knife to his own carotid.

If Dean didn't live then he couldn't, either.

The cut was painful and only lasted a second. However, the bliss that followed was eternal and incomparable.

**~o~**

Sam Winchester's dishevelled sleepiness confirmed that he knew nothing about Dean or Castiel.

Belle had finally knocked the door down at Charlie Bradbury's small apartment, only to realise she was minute too late in capturing Dean. Before her was not only Dean but also Castiel, both dead, having slashed their own throats. Just a mess of blood and two more dead people in the other room, identified as Charlie Bradbury and Kevin Tran, both of whom seemed to have been dead longer than Dean was back at Lowell.

Apparently, there was another killer whom Belle had to investigate. If Castiel was to be believed, it was someone from the Brady family. She should have listened to him before.

It was a bloody mess; a tragedy, because they might be killers (now she suspected Castiel was just as involved as Dean), but killers deserved a trial, too. Belle believed in justice and it was just sad, what had happened. So when Belle saw Sam like this, a man so much younger than her, an innocent, who had lost everything in the last twenty-four hours, she couldn't bring herself to tell him the news. She couldn't do it. If he didn't know, she couldn't be the one to tell him.

"What's the matter, Agent?" he asked mildly. "Is there something you need?"

He looked like he'd barely even opened an eye through the day, let alone watched the news. Belle swallowed. He had no idea. She hated talking about dead people. "Uh," she said at long last, "I need you to come with me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Routine questioning."

"Is this about Jess?"

Belle felt something drop in her stomach. "Y-Yes."

He looked at her for a moment and ran his hand through his long hair, miraculously righting it. Belle would have marvelled that, had she not had too much on her mind.

"Okay," he said. He reached for his keys and cane and limped after her to her car.

The drive was silent. Sam had rested his temple against the passenger seat window, and if Belle didn't know better, she'd think he was asleep. However, she did not like the quiet. There was something odd about it… something sinister, the gruesomeness of what she'd discovered an hour ago pressing on them.

"So," she said, reaching for the radio, "would you like some music?" She hated making small talk. It made her so uncomfortable. Anything was better than that horrible silence, though.

Sam didn't reply at first, making it all worse. Just when Belle thought she should go ahead and play any goddamned tune that came up, he shifted his head and she could feel his eyes on her. "When were you going to tell me?" he asked her mildly.

"Tell you what?"

"That Dean and Cas are dead."

Belle almost stopped the car and Sam snorted. "It's all over the TV, don't be surprised."

There was something odd about the way he spoke. The change in his demeanour seemed to have dropped the temperature inside the car by a few degrees. She watched as he gathered himself to his full height, towering over her even while seated. He'd never been that way in the time she'd known him. He always seemed shy and smaller than his actual height.

Not anymore.

Belle shuddered. What was going on here?

Sam spoke again, voice mild and low. "I didn't want to kill her," he said.

"Kill whom?" Belle pressed on the gas pedal. Shit _. Shitshitshit._ No, seriously, what was going on here? Sam wasn't a killer. He was barely involved in this case. His psych evaluation had been so clean and—

"Jess," said Sam, interrupting Belle's thoughts. He had no weapons on him, none, and there was still something that suggested…

No. There was no way Belle was dying now. Not like this. She couldn't understand how she'd missed it. She'd never been taken on a ride. Never. And yet, Sam was here, doing just that.

"How did you kill Jessica Moore?" she asked Sam as calmly as she could. If she didn't startle him, there was a small chance she was making it out of this alive.

Somewhere, a voice in her head laughed at her, sending shivers through her spine.

"She was in the bathroom," said Sam, his voice and posture and words doing nothing to soothe Belle. "There were candles. I lit them and put one next to a curtain. I put pills in her water. Enough to get her immediately tired. Two milligram Xanax."

Belle pushed harder on the gas pedal. "What role did you play in the other murders?" she asked. "With Dean and Castiel?"

Sam leaned back on his seat, a small smile playing on his lips. "They listened to me."

"So…"

"I told them where and who and when. They enjoyed the stalking and the killing." He scrunched up his face. "I don't like to _actually_ kill people."

So _he_ was the freaking mastermind. Great. Isabelle swallowed. "When we started discovering the bodies…"

"It was planned. Dean is an exhibitionist. He was bored. Cas wrote the novels to add another edge to it, but that was subtle. I did warn them about it, but it wasn't our work that drew Henriksen to them."

"The Bradys."

"Yes."

"Do you know why they want to kill you?"

Sam laughed, and nodded. "Yes, I do. Even Dean didn't know why."

"And will you tell me why?"

Sam looked at her, lips still smiling but eyes dead. "I'm not an idiot, Agent."

Belle didn't have time to react when his hand tugged at the steering wheel. She screamed as the car careened and meandered, tyres screeching and slipping on asphalt and finally shutting her eyes when Sam rammed them into an oncoming bus.

**~o~**

_Dean, we need to get rid of Dad._

They say when you're dying your whole life flashes before your eyes. Scene by scene by scene. As if you need to be reminded of what you did, of your virtues and your sins. It's a strange concept, really; this, and the fact that no one could tell you if it is true or explain why it happens, makes it stranger.

Sam had thought it would be like a movie theatre; in HD, with clarity, and a final moment to relive it all. He hadn't quite expected the quality of it all to be this bad, though. Not so grainy and choppy. Not about some of the worst things about his life.

_Dean. Kill that professor._

_His brother held him tight. Okay, Sammy._

There were voices around him. They spoke in languages he didn't understand. Something brought excruciating pain in his chest and he knew that all these people with the voices were useless in what they were trying to do.

_We need to find Bobby's killers._

_Damn right we do, Sam. Cas, you with us?_

_Yes._

_I will find them, said Sam. I will tell you both what to do. Listen to me._

_And they obeyed._

People were panicking. He heard ambulance sirens. Useless. All useless. They could do nothing for him now.

_You're a freak, Winchester, I like you._

_Shut up, Brady. A pause. Me, too._

_Stolen kisses behind pillars. Butterfly lips on Sam's ears and neck. Hands touching him. Brady's sweaty body against his, their quiet gasps and moans disturbing the stillness of the air. Hands touching him more, caressing his cheek. Punching him. Knees against his stomach. He pleaded. For the first time in his life, he pleaded._

_The hands just hit him some more. They fought. They shouted. Neighbours heard and classmates were concerned. They broke up. Sam wouldn't have any more of it._

_Oh, come on, Winchester, don't be a wuss._

_Go away, Brady._

_Sam met Jess after. She was beautiful. Gentle. Kind. Too kind for him. Too just for him. She never touched him wrong, but even her presence could never make Brady leave._

_Hands grabbing Sam's hair to hurt him. Pushing him against the same pillars they'd had their best kisses against, but to beat him this time, to get him back. It was too much. It was more than Sam could take._

_So he pulled Brady into a kiss. Behind that pillar. Suggested a vacation. Let's go, he said. We'll drive. We need to set this right._

_Brady agreed. They drove. They talked. They kissed. They drove some more. Brady had his sunglasses on, singing tunes from the radio. Sam reached for Brady's pants. A grin. Hands past the waistband._

_Oh yeaaaah, Sammy boy. I don't even know what you're doing with that Jess._

_You like it?_

_Go on._

_Sam made magic with his fingers. Brady gasped and grunted, eyes shutting for a moment, when Sam took his chance. He placed his other hand on the steering wheel._

_Brady opened his eyes. What are you doing?_

_Sam grinned. Getting it to the shoulder. I wanna fuck you._

_Another flick of his finger._

_Oh yeaahhhh. Brady shut his eyes again. I'll pull over, baby. Keep it going._

_Sam moved his free hand. The car swerved violently. Brady jolted from his grip._

_What the fuck, Winchester?! He was too late, though._

_An oncoming truck. Crash and bang and the next time Sam woke up, Brady was gone for good._

Sam's shirt was wet and sticky. His eyes were heavy. Someone had a stretcher for him. But Sam? Sam didn't care for anything. He let his eyes shut and he listened to them. Heard every word of their panic. And he heard more.

_Sammy?_

Two people in the bright light, holding hands. He laughed because he knew who they were.

He was _home._

 

**||END OF BOOK TWO||**


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**BREAKING**

**MASSIVE VEHICULAR ACCIDENT IN TYNGSBOROUGH, MA. CAR CRASHES INTO BUS, KILLS TWO**

_In a tragic incident on Westford Road, a crash killed two, including a federal officer, Special Agent Isabelle Vargas and her passenger, Sam Winchester. The accident, shortly following the deaths of Dean and Castiel Winchester, is suspected to have been initiated on purpose. However, confirmation is awaited. The car collided headlong with a bus, killing its passengers almost instantly and injuring the bus driver._

_Two more bodies were discovered on Barker Avenue in Lowell, where the Winchesters were found earlier today. It has been a busy, gruesome day for our police departments, but investigations are ongoing, and updates will be forthcoming._

When Dean and Castiel's home was stripped down for investigations, the police discovered a large box underneath a floorboard in their bedroom. It contained jars, a half-dozen of them with preserved human hearts, all of which were labelled neatly. The victims were all recent, from less than two years ago, whose bodies had been found after their murders unlike the ones before them; from the time Winchester decided on his exhibitionism.

In the end, there was one last jar tucked away deep inside Castiel Winchester's wardrobe. _Henry Ericson_ , the label read in block letters, a confirmed victim, but what made this one different was the blue ribbon around the lid and a card underneath.

_Dean,_

_I hope you are doing well. I love you._

_C_

Detective Benton had been the one to discover it and morbid curiosity took over when he read the message. What was this? Had Castiel been involved, too? Had this been some kind of gift from Dean?

He flipped the card to see more writing on it. It was in Dean's hand, the mighty and cruel Creature having penned down the smallest, promptest reply to his husband.

_Cas,_

_I don't know if I'll be alive when you read this._

The next sentence was a little shaky, written after what seemed like hesitation or fear or uncertainty: Benton really couldn't be the judge of that.

_I love you, too._

_D_

_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Before you leave, please give love to my amazing artist, chemart, at the masterpost [here](http://chemart.livejournal.com/2067.html).
> 
> About Sam. This fic idea was conceived last year after the DCBB and I wanted to write Murder Husbands with a twist. And I really love Sam so of course he was going to be huge. That's how I settled on making him the mastermind. There is something here-Sam wetting his bed, setting the fires, these are part of an urban legend called the Macdonald Triad. This triad includes a) bed-wetting until an older age; b) firesetting; c) killing and torturing small animals. Earlier on this triad would be used to diagnose homicidal tendencies but I have to clarify, **this is just a myth.** Such children are often extremely abused and neglected and need to be helped, rather than be called homicidal. Also, psychopathy is a legit mental condition and I do not support the idea that all people with psychopathy are bad people. As for this particular fic I wasn't exactly feeling very sorry for them in the end because, well, killing has got no excuse.
> 
>  
> 
> **Medical terms**
> 
>  **BKA** : Below Knee Amputation  
>  **TKR** : Total Knee Replacement  
>  **LSCS** : Lower Segment Caesarian Section  
>  **ITR** : Inferior Turbinate Reduction  
>  **CABG** : Coronary Artery Bypass Graft
> 
>  
> 
> **The instruments Cas used to cut Henriksen up are the _Satterlee Saw, Liston and Ruskin Bone Cutting Forceps_ and the _Liston Amputation Knife_**
> 
> **Thank you for reading! Please leave some feedback if you so please. And follow me[here](http://winchesterpooja.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!**


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